“Why yes, John,” answered Peggy. “What is it?”
“It is to be careful of your cousin,” said the boy earnestly. “I like not the fact that she is English and here in camp. She means harm, I fear.”
“Why, John Drayton,” exclaimed the girl indignantly. “Just because she is English doth not make her intend any hurt toward us. I am ashamed of thee, John, that thee should imagine any such thing of one so sweet and good as my cousin, Harriet. And is she not beautiful?”
“She is indeed very beautiful,” he answered. “Pardon me, mistress, if I have wounded you, but still do I say, be careful. If she intends no hurt to any, either the camp or you, there still can be no harm in being careful.”
“John, almost could I be vexed with thee,” cried Peggy.
“Don’t be that, Miss Peggy. I may be wrong. Of course I am all wrong if you say otherwise,” he said pleadingly. “I spoke only out of kindness for you.”
“There, there, John! we will say no more about it; but thee must not hint such things,” said Peggy. And Drayton took his departure.
“Mother,” cried Peggy several days after this incident when she had returned from the ride which had become a daily institution, “mother, John is becoming rude. I don’t believe that I like him any more.”
“Why, what hath occurred, Peggy?” asked Mrs. Owen, glancing at her daughter’s flushed face anxiously. “Thy father and I are both much pleased with the lad. What hath he done?”
“’Tis about Harriet,” answered Peggy, sinking into a chair by her mothers side. “The first time he came he cautioned me to be careful because of her being here. I forgave him on condition that he should never mention anything of like nature again. And but now, while we were riding, Harriet stopped to speak for a moment to a soldier, and he said: ’I don’t like that, Mistress Peggy. Why should she speak to that man? This must be looked into.’ And, mother, he wished to question Harriet then and there, but I would not let him. He is monstrously provoking!”