“They look after their households, of course, my cousin. And they paint flowers, or landscapes, and the tambour frame is seldom out of the hand when one is not practicing on the spinet, but they do not concern themselves with the welfare of the common soldiers as your women do.”
“Oh, Harriet,” laughed Peggy. “Thee has said that before, but thee does not practice what thee preaches.”
“What mean you?” demanded Harriet with a startled look.
“I have seen thee several times give something to a common soldier, as thee calls him. Yesterday when we were leaving General Greene’s I saw thee slip something to one when he came forward to tighten Fleetwood’s girth. John saw it too.”
“I had forgot,” remarked the girl carelessly. “Yes; I did give him a bit of money. Methinks he hath rendered us several services of like nature, Peggy, when something hath gone amiss. Yet it may not have been the same soldier. I scarce can tell one from another, there are so many.”
“Thee has a good heart,” commended Peggy warmly. “Mother says that ’tis the only way to do a kindness. Perform the deed, and then forget it. But I always remember.”
“Does Cousin David ride with us to-day, or doth the ensign?” asked Harriet.
“’Tis John, my cousin. Father is on duty.”
“I am sorry,” said Harriet. “I do not like Ensign Drayton. He reminds me of a song they sing at home:
“‘With little hat and hair dressed high,
And whip to ride a pony;
If you but take a right survey
Denotes a macaroni,’”