Peggy Owen and Liberty Part 26

Peggy laughed.

"There won't be any trouble about it this time, Sally. Father and mother are with me, and they will arrange everything."

"Thy mother is calling again, Peggy. We will have to go down. Be sure to write, and I will keep a journal for thee of Betty's doings. She is to have so many things from France. Would thee were to be here!"

"I should like to be," answered Peggy opening the door. "We are coming at last, mother."

Quite a caravan awaited Peggy's coming. There were a number of wagons, some containing Continental stores for the military at Lancaster; others filled with private property belonging to citizens, and still others which contained household articles which Mrs. Owen was taking for her use. All were under a strong guard. A roomy and comfortable calash had been provided for the lady, in which Peggy was to ride also when she should become tired of the saddle. Robert Dale, with the reins of his own horse thrown over his arm, stood waiting by Star's side to help Peggy mount.

"We were thinking that we should have to become brigands and carry you off, Peggy," he remarked as the girls joined them.

"Thee will not wonder that I was delayed when I tell thee the news, Robert," answered Peggy as, with the youth's a.s.sistance, she vaulted lightly into the saddle. "Oh, Sally, I do wish thee was going!"

"And so do I, Sally," spoke Robert.

"I should like to be with both of you, but I am glad to be in Philadelphia for a time," replied Sally. "Tell him about Betty, Peggy."

They were off at length, going by way of High Street across the Middle Ferry into the Great Lancaster Road. The distance was something more than sixty-five miles, and it was the intention to make it by brief stages. The road had formerly been known as the King's Highway, and was famed for the number of its taverns, which were jestingly said to be as many as its mile-stones. There was, therefore, no difficulty in making each day's journey as long or short as might be desired.

Peggy felt her spirits rise under the influence of the sunshine, the refreshing fragrance of the morning air, and the ride among scenes of romance and beauty. It was a country of rolling hills and gently sloping vales through which they pa.s.sed, with occasional rocky dells and low cascades. A country of orchards, meadows, and woodlands; a country of flowing water, salubrious, fertile and wealthy; dotted with a few villages and many fine farms. The road ran incessantly up and down hill through dense woods of oak, hickory, and chestnut. The face of the country seemed like a great rolling sea, and it was no wonder that the girl's heart grew light as the ride unfolded the pleasing and picturesque landscape to view.

On the afternoon of the third day Peggy and Robert cantered ahead of the party for a short dash, but the road becoming hilly and steep they were obliged to slow their horses down to a walk. The road ascended the North Mountain here rising by three ridges, each steeper than the former. Below them lay the valley, enclosed on the left by the Valley Mountain with all its garland of woods; and by the Welsh mountains on the right. Hills and rocks, waving with the forests of oak and chestnut, bordered the road and, as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Peggy had been telling Robert Dale about the attack on Tom's River, and all the sad details of Fairfax's death. Following the narrative a silence had fallen between them which was broken abruptly by Peggy.

"Look yonder, Robert! Something hath befallen a wagon, and there seems to be no one near it. To thy right. Does thee not see?"

Major Dale uttered an exclamation as his glance followed Peggy's index finger.

"You are right, Peggy," he cried. "Something is amiss there. The wheel hath been broken, and the wagon abandoned, yet 'tis full of merchandise. This must be looked into."

He gave spur to his horse, and dashed forward followed closely by Peggy. A wagon, one of the Conestoga sort, was drawn to one side of the road, and left under a tree. One of the wheels was broken, but there was no sign of horse or driver to be seen, though in truth the vehicle was filled with goods.

"Well, this is a strange proceeding," mused the young man. "Here we must needs have an armed guard for the safe arrival of our goods, yet this wagon stands on the broad highway unmolested. I'll take a look at these goods. It may be----"

"Good-morrow, friends," spoke a soft voice, and from behind some bushes a feminine form arose, whether maid or matron could not be determined at once, so voluminous were her wrappings. Her whole exterior, as well as her speech, showed that she belonged to the Society of Friends.

A long cloak of dark-gray superfine cloth enveloped her form completely. A small bonnet of gray taffeta silk was tied primly with a demure bow under her chin. It left not a wisp of hair visible. A riding mask covered her face so that only a finely turned chin was to be seen. So suddenly did she appear that both Robert and Peggy were guilty of staring. The youth was the first to recover himself.

"I cry you pardon, mistress," he said springing from the saddle, and approaching the newcomer. "If this be your wagon, you are in trouble.

Are you all alone?"

"And if I am, friend, what is it to thee?" The words as well as the manner of the questioner caused the young man to flush, but he answered promptly:

"A great deal. You are in trouble, and alone upon the highway. I repeat, 'tis a great deal to me, as it would be to any man to find a woman so situated."

"Thee must give me thy pardon, friend. Methought the query was prompted by idle curiosity. By a great oversight my driver forgot to put his box of tools in the wagon, so that when the accident occurred he was obliged to ride on to the next tavern for help. I doubt not but that he will return soon."

"But the distance to the next tavern is six miles. It was unwise to leave you here alone upon the road. Do you not know that these highways are not safe?"

"I have seen no one; nor hath any spoke with me before this. I fear naught."

"But it should not be," he said with decision. "Peggy, do you think that your mother----"

"Mother would be pleased to offer the friend a seat in the calash, Robert." Peggy unfastened her riding mask as she spoke, and turned toward the Quakeress warmly. "I am Margaret Owen," she said. "And this is Major Dale, of the army. My mother is just beyond yon bend of the road in her coach. She will be charmed to have thy company to the next inn, and farther if thee wishes."

"And I am Truelove Davis," returned the other, acknowledging the introductions with the briefest of bows. She did not remove her mask, Peggy noted with surprise, but she was conscious that the girl was regarding her intently. "Perchance," continued the newcomer, "perchance it would not be agreeable to thy mother to do this charity."

"Nay, it is thou, friend, that dost lack charity, to suppose any one unwilling to do so simple a kindness." Peggy's voice reflected her pained amazement. Friends usually accepted such favors with the same simplicity of spirit in which they were offered.

"Nay, I meant no offense, Margaret, I think thee called thyself so. I make no doubt but that thy mother is most gracious."

"Indeed she is," said Robert Dale warmly. "I will ride back and explain the matter to her. The wagons should be hurried up a bit, also. I will see to the mending of this wheel, mistress, and send the wagon along with ours. It is most unwise to leave it here with its contents unprotected. Will you come, Peggy?"

"Nay, let the damsel abide with me until thy return," spoke Truelove Davis quickly.

Robert glanced at Peggy questioningly.

"I will stay, Robert, if the friend wishes it," said Peggy.

He saluted and remounting his horse sped back down the road. The Quakeress turned toward Peggy mildly.

"Did not the son of Belial call thee Peggy?" she asked.

Peggy felt the slight irritation that had a.s.sailed her but a moment since return at this remark, so she answered with dignity:

"Major Dale so called me. All my friends speak of me as Peggy."

"'Tis pity to spoil so fine a name as Margaret by subst.i.tuting Peggy for it. I much mislike the practice."

"I do not," responded Peggy briefly.

"I fear thee is frivolous, Margaret," chided the other serenely.

All in a moment Peggy was amused. She reflected that this Friend must come from one of the country districts where observances as to demeanor and dress were much stricter than in the cities. She was, no doubt, conducting herself according to the light that was in her, and with this view of the situation Peggy's ruffled feelings were soothed.

"I fear so too, Truelove," she said laughingly. "Quite frivolous. Now thine own name: Did none ever term thee True, or Love? Either would be sweet."

"Thee must not utter such things," reproved the other in a shocked voice. "'Tis indelicate for maidens to even speak the word love. Where is thee going?"

"To Lancaster, to be with my father, who is stationed there."

"Stationed there? Is not thy father of the sect of Friends? Thou art using the speech."

"Yes; but he is in the patriot army, Truelove."

"Defying those who are set to rule over us? Hath he not been taught to bear meekly that which Providence hath called us to suffer? Where did he learn of Fox to retort violence for violence, or that shedding of blood was justifiable? And does thee hold with these misguided Whigs, Margaret?"

"I do," answered Peggy shortly. She had dismounted, and was letting her pony graze while she awaited Robert's return. A slight regret that she had offered to let this Quakeress be her mother's companion a.s.sailed her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHERE IS THEE GOING?"]