“You are not going to be so unmannerly as to leave us, are you?” asked the captain.
“Sir,” spoke the girl, facing him bravely, “I pray thee, permit me to pass unmolested. We have left thee and thy soldiers at liberty to possess yourselves of our belongings. Show at least this courtesy.”
“Methinks,” he began, tugging at his moustache thoughtfully, “that such leniency deserves something at your hands. I doubt not ’tis a Presbyterian Bible, and we have orders to destroy all such. Methinks——”
But Peggy was out and past him before he had finished speaking. There was a shorter way into the swamp if she would go through the orchard where the horses were tethered, and she sped across the lawn in that direction. As she darted among the animals the book slipped from her clasp and she stooped to recover it. As she rose from her stooping position she felt the soft nose of a horse touch her cheek gently, and a low whinny broke upon her ear. The girl gave one upward glance, and then sprang forward, screaming:
“Star!” In an ecstasy of joy she threw her arms about the little mare’s neck, for it was in reality her own pony. “Oh, Star! Star! have I found thee again?”
Caress after caress she lavished on the pony, which whinnied its delight and seemed as glad of the meeting as the girl herself. A number of soldiers, drawn by curiosity, meanwhile gathered about the maiden and the horse, and among them was the commanding officer. Peggy had forgotten everything but the fact that she had found Star again, and paid no heed to their presence.
“It seems to be a reunion,” remarked the officer at length dryly. “May I ask, my little Quakeress, what claim you have on that animal?”
Peggy lifted her tear-stained face.
“Why, it’s my pony that my dear father gave me,” she answered. “It’s Star!”
“That cannot be,” he told her. “I happen to know that this especial horse came down from New York City on one of the transports with Sir Henry Clinton. So you see that it cannot be yours.”