“The loo-mask, Peggy. ’Tis easier held in place. Not thy gray duffle riding frock, child. ’Tis o’er warm for that. Methinks that a safeguard petticoat over the gown that thee has on with a short camlet cloak will do nicely. I will tell Tom to bring Star around for thee.”
“Sally, what does thee think? I am to have a new frock for General Arnold’s tea,” confided Peggy as her mother left the room. “I did not dream that we could spare money for furbelows, but mother insists that I shall have it.”
“Oh, but that is charmante!” exclaimed Sally. “Would that my mother thought likewise, but I fear me that I shall have to wear the same muslin frock that I’ve been wearing. Hey day! Thee is a fortunate girl, Peggy.”
“Am I not?” said Peggy gaily. “I have had no new one for so long that it quite upsets me. I think of nothing else, and long for the time to come to choose it.”
“Yes; but do hurry now,” cried Sally impatiently. “Thou art sufficiently smart for a country lass.”
“Thee is saucy, Sally,” answered Peggy giving her a playful push. “Don’t call me a country girl. Thou art not so citified.”
“Well, I haven’t spent a whole year on a farm,” retorted Sally. “Peggy, if thee gives another stroke to thy hair thy cap will slip off. ’Tis as smooth as satin now.”
“There! I am ready at last,” declared Peggy adjusting her riding mask. “Oh, Sally, ’tis so good to be home again!”
“And ’tis so good to have thee, Peggy,” returned her friend. “Nothing is the same without thee. Why, when the city was under Sir William Howe——”
“Something hath happened,” interrupted Peggy hastily, bending her head to listen. “Mother is calling, and she seems upset. Come, Sally.”