CHAPTER VII--A SUMMER SOLDIER
"What, if 'mid the cannon's thunder, Whistling shot and bursting bomb, When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb?" But the drum Answered "Come! Better there in death united than in life a recreant--come!"
--"The Reveille," Bret Harte.
"Mother, what did thee think of the tea?" asked Peggy of Mrs. Owen thenext morning.
Lowry Owen laid down her sewing and turned toward her daughter gravely:
"'Twas an enjoyable occasion in many respects, my daughter. 'Twas mostpleasant to meet with old friends, but----"
"Yes, mother?" questioned the maiden as the lady hesitated.
"There was so much of extravagance and expenditure in the costumes andeven in the entertainment that I fear we cannot indulge often in suchpleasures. Mr. Arnold"--calling him after the London manner, a fashionmuch in vogue at this time in the colonies--"must be a man of greatwealth to afford such hospitality. I understand that 'tis extended oftento his friends, and 'tis expected to some extent from a man in hisposition. But we are not wealthy now, my child, and I wish not to bedrawn into a manner of life beyond our means."
"I know, mother," answered the girl soberly. "Last night I was carriedaway by the enjoyment of it all, and methought I would like naught elsethan teas, and routs and parties all the time. Didst think thy daughtercould be so foolish?"
"'Twas very plain to be seen, my child," said the lady with a smile."And with thy father and others in the field it seems to me that thouand I may be employed to better purpose, Peggy? What does thee say?Shall we give up assemblies, tea drinkings and finery to patriotism, orwouldst thou rather----"
"Mother, thee knows that when 'tis a choice between such things and thecountry they must go," cried Peggy warmly.
"I knew that I could count on thy cooperation," observed Mrs. Owenquietly. "Thou shalt have thy young friends, Peggy, and shall sharetheir pleasures, but we will have no more of public parade andostentation. I like it not. 'Tis not befitting the wives and daughtersof soldiers to indulge in such pastimes. And we shall be busy, Peggy. Wemust spin and weave."
"I do not mind the work, mother. Sally is to be a nurse, and I would notbe happy could I not do something too."
And so the spinning-wheel was brought from the attic, and given aprominent place in the living-room. The loom was set up in the largekitchen, and from early morn until eight at night the girl spent thelong hours of the day spinning and weaving. Other Whig women also,dismayed by the spirit of frivolity and extravagance that was rife inthe city, followed their example, and the hum of the wheel and burr ofthe loom were heard in every household.
"Thou hast been spinning since five of the clock this morning, Peggy,"remonstrated Mrs. Owen one afternoon. "Is thee not tired? How manyskeins hast thou spun to-day?"
"I have lost count, mother," laughed Peggy. "It behooves me to bethrifty, else there will be no yarn to knit. And such heaps and heaps ofunspun wool as there are! 'Tis no time to be weary."
"But thee must not overdo in the beginning. There is also muchunhatcheled flax to be made into thread for cloth, and if thee is toowearied from the spinning of the wool thou wilt not be able to undertakeit. So stop now, and take a run through the garden."
"Just as soon as I finish this skein, mother."
Peggy's light foot on the treadle went swifter and swifter, and for atime no sound was heard in the living-room save the hum of the wheel.Presently the spindle uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snappedshort in her fingers.
"There!" she cried merrily, unraveling the knot dexterously. "Had I butheeded thy advice, mother, this mishap would not have occurred. Themoral is that a maid should always obey her mother. I tried to outdo mystint of yesterday, and by so doing have come to grief. Now if thee willhold the skeins I will wind the yarn of to-day's spinning ready forknitting."
So saying she uprose from the wheel and took a snowy skein from the reelon the table, and adjusted it upon her mother's outstretched hands.
"Sukey and I could do this after supper, Peggy," expostulated thematron. "I like not to have thee confined too closely to work, albeit Iwould not have thee idle."
"Mother, thee knows that thee likes to have me excel in housewifery, andhow can I do so unless I practice the art? I cannot become notable saveby doing, can I?" questioned the maiden archly, her slim figure lookingvery graceful as she stood winding the yarn with nimble fingers. "Ishall take the air when I have finished winding this ball, if it willplease thee; though"--and a shadow dimmed the brightness of her face--"Ilike not to go out in the grounds since Star hath gone. How strange itis that something should happen to both the pets that father gave me!Pilot, my dog, was shot, and now my pony is stolen. Dost think I willever hear of her, mother?"
"It hath been some time since thou didst advertise, Peggy, hath it not?"
"Yes, mother. Three long se'nnights."
"And in all that time there hath come no word or sign of her." The ladyhesitated a moment, and then continued: "Dear child, I fear that thouwilt see no more of thy pretty horse. But take comfort in the thoughtthat though the gift hath been taken from thee the giver hath not. Davidis well, and in good spirits. That is much to be thankful for, Peggy."
"It is, mother. Dear father! would he were home for all time."
Without further remonstrance Peggy went out under the trees. A slightchill was in the air, for it was drawing toward evening. Summer's spellwas released, and the sere decadence of the year was sweetly and sadlygoing on. Up and down the neglected alleys of the garden she strolled,pausing ever and anon to admire the scarlet fire of the late poppies.Almost unconsciously her feet turned in the direction of the stable, aplace to which she made daily pilgrimages since the loss of her pet. Asshe drew near the building the unmistakable sound of a low whinny brokeupon the air. A startled look swept across the girl's face, and shestopped short in astonishment.
"That sounded like Star," she exclaimed. "Mother was right in thinkingthat I needed the air. I must not sit so long again at the wheel. I----"
But another and louder whinny broke upon her ear, and full of excitementPeggy flung wide the door, and darted within.
"Oh, Star! Star!" she cried throwing her arms about the pony's neck, forthe mare was really standing in her stall. "Where did thee come from?Who brought thee? And where hast thou been?"
But the little mare could only whinny her delight, and rub her soft noseagainst her mistress's sleeve.
"Thou dear thing!" cried the girl rapturously. "Is thee glad to getback? Does thee want some sugar? Oh, how did thee get here? Thee doesn'tlook as though thee had had much to eat. Poor thing! Couldn't they evengroom thee?"
"Mistress!"
Peggy turned around abruptly, and there stood the same young fellow whohad mended her saddle when she and her mother were waiting on theGermantown road. He was more ragged than ever, and thinner too, if thatwere possible. He still wore his air of jaunty assurance, however, andreturned her astonished gaze with a glance of amusement.
"Thou?" breathed Peggy. "And what does thee want?"
"Naught, but to return thy horse," he answered.
"Oh! did thee find her?" cried the girl in pleased tones. "How good ofthee to bring her to me! Where did thee find her? And the thief? Whatdid thee do with him?"
"The thief? Oh, I brought him too," he said coolly.
"But where is he?" she demanded looking around. "I do not see him."
"Here," he said sweeping her an elaborate bow.
"Thee?" Peggy recoiled involuntarily as the lad spoke. "Oh, how couldthee do it? How could thee?" she burst forth.
"I couldn't. That's why I brought her back. I don't steal from a girl."
"But why did thee keep her so long?" she asked, mollified somewhat bythis speech.
"I wanted to see my people," he answered.
"And did thee?" she queried, her tender heart stirred by this.
"No; they had moved, or something had happened. They weren't there anymore." He spoke wearily and with some bitterness. "I'd have sold thathorse if I hadn't kept thinking how fond you were of her."
"And did thee know that I had offered a reward for her, friend?"
"Why, of course I knew," he replied. "Now as I am entitled to the moneyfor both the horse and thief, suppose you bring it out to me."
"But my pony," objected Peggy. "How do I know that thee will not takeher again?"
"Your horse?" he questioned angrily. "Don't fear! Don't you suppose thatif I had wanted to keep her I'd have done it? Now if you are going togive me the money, do it. Then feed your mare. She hasn't had much morethan I have. Don't be afraid of me, but hurry. I can't stay around hereany longer."
"I am not afraid, friend," responded Peggy her hesitation vanishing. "Iwas just thinking that thee looked hungry. Come to the house, and eatsomething. Then thou shalt have thy money, though I know not what mymother will say to that part of it. But thee should eat anyway. Come!"
"I will not," he cried. "I will not. Someone might see me and arrestme."
"But if mother and I do not wish to prosecute 'tis not the concern ofany," she told him mildly. "Now that I have Star, I would not wish to besevere, and thou didst bring her back. Mother will feel the same way."
"'Tis not that," he cried sharply. "Don't you understand? I have runaway from the army, and I don't want to be caught. I have beenadvertised, as well as your horse."
"And so thee could not steal from a girl, but thee can desert thycountry in her fight for liberty," said Peggy, her eyes blazing withscorn. "I had rather a thousand times that thou hadst taken Star; thatthou couldst find it in thy heart to steal, though that were monstroussinful, than that thou should stand there, and declare thyself adeserter. Why, thou art worse than a thief! Thou hast committed robberytwice over; for thou hast robbed thyself of honor, and despoiled thycountry of a man."
"But"--he began, amazed at her feeling--"you do not know. You do notunderstand. I----"
"No," blazed the girl. "I do not know. I do not want to know how a mancan be a summer soldier, as Mr. Thomas Paine calls them. A sunshinepatriot who rallies to his country's side in fair weather, but whodeserts her when she needs men. A deserter! Oh!" her voice thrilling,"how can thee be such a thing?"
"It's--it's all up," he said leaning against the door white and shaken."I'm done for!" And he fell limply to the floor.
Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls Page 9