Peggy Owen at Yorktown Part 11

The walk to the hospital, which occupied the entire square between Spruce and Pine Streets and Eighth and Ninth Streets, was short. Peggy and Sally talked in low tones over Harriet's absence and the cause thereof, while Mrs. Owen mused in silence. The lady was still thoughtful after her interview with Dr. Cochran.

"How did the doctor say he was, mother?" asked Peggy as they started for home.

"Badly hurt, my child. He was sorry for the lad's sake that Harriet was not here. Clifford, it seems, looks to her coming with great eagerness.

'Tis his one hope of life, the doctor thinks."

Peggy fell into silence. The night was beautiful. One of those soft balmy nights that come sometimes in the early spring, leading one to thoughts of summer joys. But its sweet influence was not felt by these two. One idea possessed the minds of both, and each waited for the other to give voice to it.

"Mother," spoke Peggy abruptly as they reached the stoop of their own dwelling, "thee means that one of us must go to my Cousin Clifford, doesn't thee?"

"Yes; one of us must go," answered her mother. "One must remain here to have the house in readiness for David should he have need of it. The other must respond to the poor lad's appeal for his kinsmen."

"'Twill mean more whispers against our patriotism, will it not, mother?"

"It cannot be helped, Peggy. If others choose to believe ill of us for doing a deed of mercy then we must pay no heed. We must so order our conduct that our friends will know that we are loyal to the cause, even though we do minister to an English cousin. The others matter not. 'Tis David's kin who calls, and not to heed the call were to be false to the dictates of humanity. And now which one of us shall go, Peggy?"

"Mother, I must be the one, of course. Thee must be here to look after affairs and in case father should have need of thee. I will go. I knew that I must as soon as Sally told her news. But oh, mother! I have been home such a little while! What if something should happen to keep me from thee as it did before?"

"Peggy, if thee talks like that I cannot let thee go," exclaimed her mother. "If it were in either of the Carolinas I would not think of permitting it even to succor a poor wounded boy. It should take but a short time to go and come. I talked it over with the doctor. He had thought that Harriet might wish to go, and, not knowing of her departure, made arrangements whereby she might go with one of the nurses who hath been here on a furlough. She returns to-morrow in a cabriolet with her son. Thou art to take Harriet's place. Thee will not mind, Peggy."

"No, mother. I shall murmur no more. 'Tis right to go. Thee will let Harriet know, though how she can do anything I see not. She will not be allowed to enter the lines again. What time doth the cabriolet with the nurse start? Should we not begin to prepare for the journey now?"

And seeing her so willing to accept the charge the mother in Mrs. Owen would not down. She drew the girl in a close embrace.

"If it were not right, Peggy," she murmured. "If the doctor had not already prepared a place, or if I thought for a moment that harm would befall thee, I should not let thee go. But--"

"Why, mother, there is naught else to do," answered Peggy cheerfully.

"Thee must not think of harm. I was foolish to give way, and so art thou, mother mine. Of course naught will happen, and it is the right thing to do. What shall I take? And we should have supplies also, should we not?"

And with the Quaker habit of self-repression mother and daughter put aside their emotion to prepare for the coming journey.

CHAPTER X-FAREWELL TO HOME

"Such was the season when equipt we stood On the green banks of Schuylkill's winding flood, A road immense, yet promised joys so dear, That toils and doubts and dangers disappear."

-"The Foresters," _Alexander Wilson_.

"There are lint and bandages in the large bundle, Peggy. Dr. Cochran says they can scarce get enough of them. The hospitals as well as the departments of the army are in sore need of supplies. Ah me! the long, grim, weary years of fighting have made the people slow to respond to the necessities of our soldiers, and the Congress hath not the power to make levies. I would send sheets and pillow cases if there was room. We shall see when thy companion comes. The hamper is filled with jellies and delicacies. Thou wilt divide them with the other poor wounded ones.

They will be glad of them, I make no doubt. And thy portmanteau is all packed, child. I think we have forgot nothing. There is but little time left to dress for the journey."

Mrs. Owen cast an anxious glance at the array of bundles as she enumerated them, locked the portmanteau, and gave the key to her daughter.

"I know, mother, but it will not take me long. I will run down to the stables to say good-bye to Star now, and then dress. How I wish the dear thing could go too!"

"I fear thee will have to be content without her for this time, Peggy.

It will not be for long."

"True, mother," a.s.sented the girl cheerfully. "And the very first thing I shall do when I come back will be to take a long, long gallop. I will be gone just a moment."

She ran out of the room as she finished speaking, and without pausing for even a pa.s.sing glance at the trees or the terrace, went swiftly through the orchard to the stables.

"Thou dear thing!" she exclaimed laying her head on the mare's silky mane. "I do wish thee was going with me. Thee has been my companion through so many jaunts that I don't feel quite right at leaving thee.

Oh, I do wish thee was going!"

The little mare whinnied and rubbed her nose gently against her young mistress as though she too would like to go. Peggy stroked her softly.

"I do wish thee was going," she said again. "Then no matter what happened I would always have a way to get back to mother. Why, Peggy Owen!" she exclaimed as the full import of the words she had just spoken came to her. "What whimsies have beset thy brain that thou shouldst say that? What could happen? Thee must not get the megrims, Peggy, before thee has started. There, Star! I must not linger with thee. Now I have kissed thee just on the spot that gave thee thy name. Thou wilt remember thou art to give me a good ride when I come back."

Peggy gave a last lingering caress to her pet, and turned reluctantly to leave her. As she did so she found herself face to face with Sally Evans and Betty Williams.

"We thought we should find thee here," cried Sally. "When the doctor told me that thee was to go down to see Harriet's brother, I went for Betty at once. We came to see thee off."

"Oh, Peggy, I think thee has the most luck," grumbled Betty. "The South hath all the fighting, and thee is going right there."

"Why, no, Betty," corrected Peggy with a laugh. "The fighting is in the Carolinas, and I go only to Virginia. There is no warfare there. I should not go if there were."

"Well, I should, and I had the chance. I suppose Virginia is not Carolina," went on Betty, who was hazy about her geography, "but 'tis much nearer than Philadelphia. I do think, Peggy Owen, that thee has the most delightsome adventures in the world," she ended with a sigh.

"I am afraid that it will not be very pleasant to go to a cousin who is dying," returned Peggy soberly. "Come, girls! 'tis time for me to dress.

Let us go to my room. I am to go with a nurse and her escort. She hath been up here on a visit, and 'tis fortunate that she returns just at this time."

"I knew thee would go just as soon as I knew that Harriet was not here,"

said Sally, winding her arm about her waist. "There was naught else to do."

"That was what mother and I thought, Sally. Would that I had thy skill and experience in nursing. Then perchance I could bring my cousin back to health."

"Well, thee shouldn't want to, Peggy," cried Betty. "Look how the British treat our poor fellows when they are wounded. Yet we treat our prisoners as though they were friends, and not enemies. I get out of patience with Sally here when I see her so good to them when any are brought into the hospital wounded. And why does thee do it, Sally?"

"To make them ashamed of themselves," answered Sally promptly. "They look upon us as provincials and almost barbarians. When they find us actuated by feelings of humanity it begins in time to dawn upon them that they are dealing with kinsmen and brothers. Sometimes they are brought to such a keen realization of this that they refuse longer to fight us, and so leave the army. I have reasoned with some of them," she ended demurely.

"I'll warrant thee has," laughed Peggy.

Thus chatting the girls walked slowly to the house, and then up to Peggy's own little room where they began to help the latter to dress for the journey. She was ready presently, and then Sally cleared her throat in an oratorical manner.

"Mistress Peggy Owen," she began, untying with a flourish a small package which had escaped Peggy's notice, "on behalf of The Social Select Circle, of which thee is an honored member, I present thee with this diary with the injunction that thou art to record within its pages everything that befalls thee from the time of thy leaving until the day of thy homecoming."

"All and everything," supplemented Betty eagerly.

"Why, girls, 'tis beautiful," cried Peggy pleased and surprised by the gift. "It is sweet to be so remembered, and if The Circle wishes me to set down all the happenings of my journey, I will do so with pleasure.

But there will be no adventures. 'Tis not to be expected on such a jaunt."

"Every jaunt holds possibilities," observed Sally sententiously. "When thee was away before, look at all that befell; yet we have not heard the half of what happened because thee forgot. Now if thou wilt write every day in this little book for the benefit of thy friends The Circle can enjoy thy journey as well as thou."

"I'll do it," promised Peggy. "But you must not expect much. I shall be gone such a short time that you girls will scarcely have begun to miss me ere I shall be home again. 'Twill be a sad journey, I fear."