“And thee will be sure to write?” questioned Peggy when they descended to the lower floor. “I shall be anxious to hear of thy well-being, and thee must remember, John, that ’tis my intention to keep thee in socks, and mittens, and to renew that uniform when ’tis needed. Thee shall be cold no more if I can help it. And how shall it be done unless thee will let me know thy whereabouts?”
“Have no fear. I shall be glad to write,” answered Drayton who, now that the time had come for departure, seemed loath to leave them. “Madam Owen, and Miss Peggy, you have made a new man of me. How shall I ever thank you for your care?”
“Speak not of it, dear lad,” said the lady gently. “If we have done thee good it hath not been without benefit to us also. And if thou dost need anything fail not to let us know. ’Tis sweet to minister to those who take the field in our defense. It makes thee very near and dear to us to know personally all that thee and thy fellows are undergoing for our sakes.”
“Dear lady, the man who will not fight for such as you deserves the fate of a deserter indeed,” exclaimed the youth, much moved. “I thank you again. You shall hear from me, but not as a summer soldier.”
He bent in a deep obeisance before both mother and daughter, and then with one last long look about him John Drayton followed General Arnold to the coach.
CHAPTER XIII—GOOD NEWS
| “To them was life a simple art Of duties to be done, A game where each one took his part, A race where all must run.” —“The Men of Old,” Lord Houghton. |
Life flowed along in its customary channels with little of incident for Peggy and her mother after the departure of Drayton. But if it was not eventful there was no lack of occupation.
The house and grounds were brought into order; the stores of unspun wool and unhatcheled flax were at length all spun into yarn and thread which in turn were woven into cloth from which the two replenished their depleted wardrobes. But, though all patriotic women strove to supply their every need by domestic industry, the prices of the commonest necessities of life advanced to such an extent that only the strictest frugality enabled them to live.
“There is one thing, mother,” said Peggy one morning in November as she found Mrs. Owen studying accounts with a grave face. “There is one thing sure: if the war lasts much longer we shall all be ruined as to our estates, whatever may be the state of our liberties.”