“Surely, my daughter. Why dost thou ask? The lad is not strong enough to depart now. There is naught else to be done.”
“But he is in truth a deserter, mother.”
“I surmised as much, as thee remembers,” observed Mrs. Owen quietly.
“And a thief,” continued the maiden with some warmth. “Mother, he acknowledged that ’twas he who stole Star.”
“And it was also he who brought her back,” reminded her mother.
“But to desert,” exclaimed Peggy a fine scorn leaping into her eyes. “To leave when his country hath such need of him!”
“True, Peggy; but the flesh is weak, and when subjected to the pangs of hunger ’tis prone to revolt. Our soldiers are so illy cared for that the wonder is that more do not forsake the army.”
“Mother, thee does not excuse it, does thee?” cried Peggy in so much consternation that Mrs. Owen smiled.
“Nay, Peggy. I only suspend judgment until I know all the circumstances. Did he tell thee aught of his reasons for deserting?”
“I fear,” answered Peggy shamefacedly, “that I gave him no opportunity. In fact, mother, I discovered some warmth in speaking anent the matter.”