Peggy Owen at Yorktown.

by Lucy Foster Madison.

Introduction

The members of the Society of Friends, or "Quakers," residing in the American colonies, were sadly tried during the struggle by those colonies against King George. The Quaker principles forbade warfare, but the Quaker hearts were often as loyal to their country as any about them. Some of these found a way to reconcile principles with patriotism and, entering the American army, were known as "fighting Quakers." David Owen, Peggy's father, was one of these, and the first book of this series, "Peggy Owen," told of some dangers that his brave little daughter underwent to serve the cause she loved. In "Peggy Owen Patriot"

is the story of a winter in New Jersey at Washington's camp, Peggy's capture, her unwilling stay in New York, and her final escape from her British captors in the Carolinas. Her pony, "Star," who appears again in this story, shared many of her dangers. "Peggy Owen and Liberty"

completes the series.

PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN

CHAPTER I-A LOYAL SUBJECT OF HIS MAJESTY, GEORGE THIRD, MAKES A SHIRT

"Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye, But far, very far were the friends that he loved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh."

-Thomas Moore.

It was a fine winter day. There had been a week of murky skies and dripping boughs; a week of rain, and mud, and slush; a week of such disagreeable weather that when the citizens of Philadelphia awoke, on this twenty-first day of February, 1781, to find the sun shining in a sky of almost cloudless blue and the air keen and invigorating, they rejoiced, and went about their daily tasks thrilled anew with the pleasure of living.

About ten o'clock on the morning of this sunlit winter day a young girl was slowly wending her way up Chestnut Street. At every few steps she was obliged to pause to lift into place a huge bundle she was carrying-a bundle so large that she could just reach her arms about it, and clasp her hands together in the comfortable depths of a great m.u.f.f. A ripple of laughter rose to her lips as, in spite of her efforts, the bundle at length slipped through her arms and fell with a soft thud upon the frozen ground.

"It's lucky for thee, Peggy," she cried addressing herself merrily, "that 'tis not yesterday, else thee would have a washing on thy hands.

Oh, if Sally could only see me! She said that I'd not reach home with it. Now, Mr. Bundle, is thee carrying me, or I thee? Just lie there for a moment, and then we'll see who is worsted in this fray."

Removing her winter mask the better to inhale the bracing air, she disclosed a face flushed rosily from her exertions and dark eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with laughter just now at the plight in which she found herself. She stood for a moment breathing deeply then, readjusting the mask under the folds of her calash, managed with some difficulty to get the bundle once more within the circle of her arms, and again started forward. It was slow progress, but presently she found herself without further mishap in front of a large dwelling on the corner of Fifth and Chestnut Streets, standing in the midst of extensive grounds just across from the State House.

With a sigh of relief the girl deposited the bundle on the bottom step of the stoop, and then, running lightly up the steps, sounded the great bra.s.s knocker. The door was opened almost instantly by a woman whose sweet face and gentle manner as well as her garb bespoke the Quakeress.

"I saw thee coming, but could not get to the door before thy knock sounded, Peggy," she said. "And did thee have a good time? Harriet hath missed thee, and in truth it hath seemed long since yesterday. And what is in that bundle, child? 'Tis monstrous large for thee to carry."

"'Tis linen, mother," answered the maiden bringing the bundle into the hall. "It came last night to Mrs. Evans for her to make into shirts for the soldiers, but word came from the hospital this morning that both she and Sally were needed there, so I told her that, as we had our apportionment all made up, we would gladly do hers. And such a time to get here as I had. So thee missed me? 'Tis worth going away for the night to hear thee say that. How is Harriet?"

"Wherriting over thy absence. Indeed, she seems scarce able to bear thee from her sight. I persuaded her to work upon the shirt, thinking to beguile her into something like calm. She should go out to-day if 'tis not too cold."

"'Twould do her good," declared Peggy. "It is fine out. Such a relief from the rain and mud of the past week. And oh, mother! what does thee think? Mistress Reed hath twenty-two hundred shirts already that the ladies have made, and she hath received a letter from His Excellency, General Washington, concerning them. She wished that all that were not needed for the Pennsylvania line should be given to our near neighbor, New Jersey, but left it with him to do as he thought best. She told Mrs.

Evans that she wished to see thee and others of the committee soon.

There is to be a notice as to time. Thee does not mind this extra work, does thee, mother?"

"Nay, Peggy. 'Twas right to bring it. 'Tis little that we who are at home can do for those in the field, and Mrs. Evans and Sally give too much time as it is to the hospital to undertake anything more. But let us go in to Harriet. She will be glad that thou art here."

"Have you come at last, Peggy?" cried a slender girl starting up from a settle which was drawn before a roaring fire as mother and daughter entered the living-room. "And did I hear you say something about more cloth for shirts? Peggy Owen, you have done nothing else since we came from the South two months ago but make shirts. I doubt not that every soldier of the rebel army hath either a shirt of your making, or a pair of socks of your knitting."

"That could hardly be, Harriet," laughed Peggy. "I have made but twelve shirts, and just the same number of socks. As we have a few more in the army than that thee sees that it could not be. And how does thee feel?"

"Oh, I don't know," spoke Harriet plaintively. She was very pale as though she had been ill, which was the fact, but her disorder had reached that stage of convalescence in which it was more mental than physical. "I don't know, Peggy. I don't believe that I'll ever be well again."

"How thee talks," chided Peggy. "Did thee finish the shirt mother gave thee to make? Methought that would woo thee from thy megrims."

"Yes; it is finished," answered the other with a sigh of weariness. "I have just put the last st.i.tch in it, and I'll do no more. Heigh-ho! to think of Harriet Owen, daughter of William Owen, a colonel of the Welsh Fusileers, and a most loyal subject of His Majesty, making a shirt for one of the rebels. What would father think of it, I wonder?"

"I think that he would rather have thee so engaged than to have thee give up to thy fancies, Harriet," answered Peggy as her cousin drew the garment from among the pillows of the settle, and held it up to view.

"Did thee put thy name on it? Mistress Reed wishes every woman and girl who makes one to embroider her name on it."

"'Tis athwart the shoulders," said Harriet, handing the shirt to Peggy, a little sparkle coming into her eyes. Wonderful eyes they were: gray in color, surrounded by lashes of intense black, and dazzling in their brilliancy. "Well, Peggy?"

"Oh, Harriet," gasped the Quaker maiden, a look of vexation flashing across her face. "What will Mistress Reed say?"

For across the shoulders of the garment was embroidered in red letters: "Harriet Owen-A loyal subject of the king."

"What will she say?" repeated Peggy in dismay.

"Well, I am a loyal subject of the king, am I not? Doth being in Philadelphia instead of London or New York make me otherwise? Doth even making a rebel shirt change me?"

"N-no," answered Peggy. "I do not wish thee to change, Harriet; only it doth not seem quite, quite-- In truth, as thee is just among us to get well it doth not--" She paused hardly knowing how to continue.

"'Tis naught to trouble over, my daughter," spoke her mother serenely.

"'Twill wear just as long and keep some soldier just as warm as though it were not there. I doubt not that it will cause some amus.e.m.e.nt in camp, and what is't but a girlish piece of mischief, after all? I am pleased to see a spark of thy former spirit, Harriet. Thee is growing better."

"Thank you, madam my cousin. And I will make no more, if it please you.

I find the st.i.tching wearisome, and the object not much to my liking."

"Then it were better for thee to make no more," declared the lady.

"Though 'tis not well to lie on the settle and do naught but read. I think with Peggy that to go out will do thee good. Therefore, after dinner thou must go with her to take the shirts that are finished to Mistress Reed. Then a walk to the river, or to Pegg's Run, where there is sure to be skating if the ice is strong enough, will do nicely for to-day. There are some fine skaters among us, and 'twill amuse thee to see them."

"I care more for a.s.semblies and small dances than I do for sports,"

declared Harriet. "Still, if you think best, I will go, madam my cousin.

I get lonesome here. I am so far from my people, and from my country.

New York was gayer when I was there. Do you not think so, Peggy? And yet 'tis not nearly so large as this city."

"Thee has not been strong enough for much gayety," reminded the lady gently. "As soon as the spring comes we will see about more diversion.

There will be the rides, and many jaunts which the weather hath not permitted heretofore. But for to-day the walk must do. So be ready to go with Peggy as soon as the dinner is over."

"And may I read until then?" queried the girl wistfully. "The book is very enticing. I but laid it aside to finish the shirt."

"Yes; and Peggy may join thee, if she wishes," said Mrs. Owen rising. "I like not for her to read idle tales, nor much verse when there is so much to be done, but the poem that thou art reading now is a n.o.ble one.

I would like her to become familiar with it. I read it when a girl."

"What is it, Harriet?" questioned Peggy as her mother left the room.

"'Tis 'Paradise Lost,' by Mr. John Milton," answered her cousin, taking the book from a near-by table, and turning the leaves of the volume idly. "'Tis considered a la mode in London to be so familiar with it as to be able to quote pa.s.sages from it on occasion. So long as I must stay in the colonies 'tis as well to prepare for my return."