It was several days before Peggy could have another talk with Master Drayton, but meantime she set up the needles and began to knit vigorously on stockings, spun into thread more of the flax, and put Sukey to work weaving it into cloth.
“Peggy, what is thee so busy about?” asked Mrs. Owen, coming into the kitchen where the girl had been at work since the dawn.
Peggy looked up from the dye kettle with a puzzled look on her face, and gave an extra poke at the cloth reposing therein by way of emphasis.
“I am trying to dye some cloth, mother, but it doesn’t seem to come right. What shall be done to indigo to get a pretty blue? I had no trouble with the yellow dye. See how beautifully this piece came out. Such a soft fine buff! I am pleased with it—but this——”
She paused and turned inquiringly toward her mother. Mrs. Owen took the stick from her hand, and held up a piece of cloth from the steaming kettle, examining it critically.
“Fix another kettle of water, Peggy,” she said, “and let it be near to boiling. Into it put some salts of tin, alum and cream of tartar. It needs brightening, and will come a pretty blue when washed in the solution. There! Punch each part of the cloth down into the water, child, so that it may be thoroughly wetted. So! Now rinse well, and hang it out to dry. That done thou shalt tell me for what purpose thou hast dyed the cloth such especial colors. Thy father hath no need of a new uniform.”
“’Tis for Friend John,” said Peggy dabbling the cloth vigorously up and down in the rinsing water.
“Why! hath he expressed a wish to return?” exclaimed Mrs. Owen in amazement. “I had heard naught of it.”
Peggy laughed.
“Not yet, mother,” she cried, her eyes dancing with mirth. “But I see signs. Oh, I see signs. This must be ready anent the time he does wish to go. This, with socks, and weapons, and aught else he may need.”