“With pleasure,” answered Mrs. Owen. “Thou shalt sit in the chaise with me while Tom may go in the wagons. This chair is not so comfortable as a coach, because it hath no springs or leather bands, but thou wilt not find it unbearable.”
“’Twill be better than walking,” he returned with easy assurance. His assurance deserted him suddenly, and he sank upon the ground abruptly. “I am faint,” he murmured.
“The poor lad is ill,” cried Peggy hastening to his side. “Oh, mother! what does thee think is the matter?”
“’Tis hunger, I fear,” replied Mrs. Owen hastily descending from the chair. “Peggy, fetch me the portmanteau from under the seat. Why did I not ask as to thy needs?” she added with grave self-reproach as the youth reached eagerly for the food. “There! Be not too ravenous, my lad. Thou shalt have thy fill.”
“Oh, but——” uttered the boy, clutching the provisions. He said no more, but ate with frantic haste, as though he feared the viands would be taken from him. Mrs. Owen and Peggy regarded him with pitying eyes. Presently he looked at them with something of his former jauntiness. “’Tis the first real food that I have eaten for three days,” he told them. “I have been living on wild grapes, and corn whenever I could find a field. I thank you, madam; and you also, mistress.”
“And hast thou no home, or place to go that thou art reduced to such a pass?” asked the lady.
“There is no place near. Perhaps when I reach Philadelphia I shall find a way to get to mine own home, and then——”
“Ah! there comes Robert with the wagons,” exclaimed Peggy, as four wagons escorted by as many troopers appeared from behind a bend in the highway. “I am so glad, for now we can start again. He will know what to do for thee, thou poor lad!”
“Is he—is he a soldier?” asked the boy gazing at the approaching wagon train with evident alarm.
“Why, yes; of course,” answered Peggy. “He is aide for the time being to General Arnold, who hath charge of Philadelphia. Why——”