“There!” spoke the youth, rising. “I think, mistress, that you will find your saddle in prime order for the rest of your journey.”
“Thank thee,” said Peggy gratefully. “It is well done. And now what shall we do for thee? How can we serve thee for thy kindness?”
“Are you bound for Philadelphia, or do you stop in Germantown?” he asked.
“Philadelphia, my lad,” spoke the mother.
“Would thee——” She hesitated a moment and then drew forth some bills. “Would thee accept some of these? ’Tis all I have to offer in the shape of money. Hard coin is seldom met with these days.”
“Nay,” said the boy with a gesture of scorn. “Keep your bills, madam. I have had my fill of Continental money. ’Twould take all that you have to purchase a meal that would be filling, and I doubt whether the farmers hereabouts would take them.”
“There is a law now compelling every one to take them,” cried Peggy. “They will have to take the Continental money whether they wish to or not. And they should. Every good patriot should stand by the country’s currency.”
“You are all for the patriots, I see,” he remarked. “When one has suffered in the cause, and received naught from an ungrateful country one doesn’t feel so warmly toward them.”
“But, my lad,” broke in the lady, “thee will pardon me, I know, if I say again that thee looks in need of assistance. If we cannot aid thee here perchance in the city we could be of service. I am Lowry Owen, David Owen’s wife. Thou mayst have heard of him?”
“Perchance then, madam, you would not mind if I accompanied you to the city?” queried the lad. “Wilt let me ride with you?”