“Look at the tents, mother,” she cried. “Didst ever see so many before?”
“We must be at Middlebrook,” exclaimed Mrs. Owen, almost as excited as Peggy. “Just see how the prospect of rest hath reanimated the driver and his horses.”
The maiden laughed as the driver sat up, cracked his whip and urged his horses to greater dispatch. The tired animals responded nobly, but their spurt of speed was checked suddenly by a peremptory command from the patrol. The examination over, they were allowed to proceed, but were again halted when they had gone but a short distance.
“What can it be now?” wondered Peggy peering out of the coach. Catching sight of the tall figure that came alongside, she called gaily:
“The countersign, father! The countersign!”
“’Tis welcome! Thrice welcome!” answered David Owen flinging wide the door of the vehicle and taking her into a tender embrace. “Art tired, Peggy?”
“No, father; but I fear that mother is. She hath been cold too.”
“But I am so no longer,” spoke Mrs. Owen cheerily. “Thee is well, David?”
“Never better, my wife. I have forgot that I was ever ill. But come! let us proceed to our quarters.”
“And who are in our mess?” asked Peggy as, after a word to the driver, her father stepped into the coach.