“Who trusts himself to woman, or to waves,Should never hazard what he fears to lose.”—Oldmixon.
“Who trusts himself to woman, or to waves,Should never hazard what he fears to lose.”
—Oldmixon.
During the evening Peggy congratulated herself more than once that Clifford was well away from the house; for the sheriff, in company with her father, again went over the dwelling. Every nook that might afford a hiding-place was examined thoroughly, and, as Fairfax had foreseen, another man was sent up to search the kitchen chamber. At length, all his joviality gone, Sheriff Will sat down by the sitting-room fire in puzzled perplexity.
“I can’t understand it,” he said more to himself than to Mr. Owen. “We have found no track going away. His boots make an impression that could not be mistaken. Unless he hath taken wings unto himself he should be somewhere in the house.”
“Nay, friend; it cannot be,” replied Mr.Owen, shaking his head positively. “We have searched every place that ’twould be possible for a man to be concealed. We have even gone into places where no one, not a member of the family, would think of hiding.”
“That’s just it,” exclaimed the officer. “Some member of the family helped him. Were it not so we could not have missed the fellow.”
“In that, friend, thou art mistaken. I believe that I could give an account of the actions and whereabouts of each member, yea, I will include our guests also, since my arrival home.”
“What time was that, sir?”
“About one of the clock, I should judge.”
“Well, the matter is beyond me,” responded the sheriff rising. “There is naught to do but to go home and think it over.”
And to Peggy’s great relief he left, taking his men with him. The occurrence seemed to have thrown a damper over the spirits of the party, even Betty being unusually silent, so the household soon separated for the night.
It was not until the afternoon of the nextday that Peggy found an opportunity of going to Sally’s. By that time, accompanied by Robert Dale, Betty had left for home; Mr. Owen had taken Fairfax with him into the city, the two ladies were deep in conversation on the mysteries of preserve making, and Peggy was at liberty. With a word of explanation to her mother the girl slipped on her wraps, and started for Sally’s house.
Though still cold the day was clear and bright. The footways had not been cleared of snow, but paths had been beaten by the impact of many feet, and Peggy found walking not at all difficult. As she turned into Fourth Street she was astonished to encounter Sheriff Will. He returned her courteous greeting with an abrupt bow, and passed on.
“I wonder if he is going to the house again,” she mused, stopping to look after him. “He must be,” she concluded as she saw that he turned into Chestnut Street. “He is not satisfied about not finding Clifford. Oh, dear! what would have happened if Sally had not taken my cousin home with her? Well, I must hasten.”
A brisk walk soon brought her to Sally’shouse on Little Dock Street. The dwelling was of stone. It was two stories in height, with a high-pitched roof, and with a garret room lighted in front by three dormer windows, and in the rear by a dormer on each side. Sally herself came to the door in answer to the knocker.
“I have been watching for thee all day, Peggy,” she cried, drawing her into the room. The front door did not open into an entry, but directly into a large room occupied as a sitting-room. “I thought thee would never come. Thy cousin hath worried lest some ill had befallen thee. Come in, and tell me all that happened after we left. Was it not fine in Robert to speak as he did? Does thee think that he knew what we were about? And oh, Peggy! I do like thy cousin so much. Thee remembers how we used to laugh at Harriet because she was always extolling her brother at the expense of any youth she met? Well, I blame her no longer. Mother, too, is charmed with him. Well, why doesn’t thee talk, and tell me all that hath occurred?”
Peggy laughed outright.
“I was just waiting for a chance, Sally,” shereplied. “Let me see. About Robert first: How could he have known anything anent Clifford, yet what he said was so opportune? It hath puzzled me. I know not what we should have done had he not so spoken. I could think of naught to say, and I saw that thee was affected in the same manner. Where is my cousin? Let us go to him at once, for I must not stay long. I will tell ye both what hath occurred.”
“Come,” quoth Sally, leading the way to the staircase, which was at the back of the house, and approached from a side entrance. “We have put him in the front chamber, which contains the ‘Auger Hole.’ Thee remembers it, Peggy? For further safety we have drawn the bedstead in front of the door. Unless ’twas known no one would think of looking in that closet for a hiding-place. There is also an old loom in a corner up attic which might serve right well for concealment, but mother thought the chamber with the ‘Auger Hole’ best; although we showed Clifford both places.”
“Thee has done thy best, Sally,” remarked Peggy approvingly. The “Auger Hole,” as itwas playfully called, had been built, for what reason was not known, as a place of concealment. It was a small room, entirely dark, which could be approached only through a linen closet. In order to get at it, the linen had to be taken from the shelves, the shelves drawn out, and a small door opened at the back of the closet, quite low down, so that the room could be entered only by stooping. Its existence was known to but few people. So Peggy smiled with satisfaction, as she added: “I dare say that he will not need to use either. Thee would never be suspected of having a British prisoner in hiding.”
“True,” answered Sally, “but ’tis as well to be prepared for an emergency. Here we are, Peggy.”
“And how does thee do to-day, my cousin?” cried Peggy as her friend opened the door.
Clifford Owen rose from the easy chair drawn up before the fire, and turned toward her beamingly. Peggy reflected that she had never seen him appear to better advantage. His fine eyes were glowing, his form was erect, and his manner held a graciousness that was charming.
“Well, my little cousin! well indeed,” he responded. “Methought that fur rug yesterday was sumptuous after my experience with the wind and snow, but your friends have lodged me like a king. Yon tester bed feels as though ’twere meant for royalty. I doubt if King George rests upon one so easy.”
“It wouldn’t rest easy if I had the making of it,” spoke Sally pertly.
“The sheriff made another search after thee left, my cousin,” interposed Peggy hastily. “And, just as Fairfax thought, he sent another man to explore the kitchen chamber. What if thee had been there?”
“’Twould have been all up with me,” remarked Clifford easily. “How seemed he, Peggy? Suspicious?”
“He was greatly dissatisfied,” returned Peggy, a troubled look clouding her eyes. “He said that some member of the family must have helped in the escape, though father insisted that it could not be. And oh! I met him as I was coming here.”
“Who? The sheriff?” questioned Clifford startled.
“Yes; he was going to our house, I think.At least I saw him turn into Chestnut Street.”
“Did he turn to watch you, Peggy?” inquired her cousin with some anxiety.
“Why no; why should he?” asked she simply.
“Because——” he began, when a loud peal of the knocker brought the remark to an abrupt stop.
Sally arose with precipitancy.
“Mother is busy in the kitchen,” she said. “’Twill be best for me to see who it is. I don’t believe that ’tis any one who will wish to come up here, but if it should be thy cousin must run for the closet, Peggy. I will leave the door ajar, and should I be saying anything when I come to the stairway thee will know that ’tis some one who insists upon coming up.”
The two cousins sat in silence as Sally went down-stairs, fearful of what the visit might portend. Peggy was openly anxious, and Clifford, too, seemed uneasy. The murmur of voices could be heard, and while the words could not be distinguished it seemed to Peggy that the tones were those of command. Aslight commotion followed as though several persons had entered the dwelling, and presently the stairway door opened and closed quickly.
“Peggy!” came in a shrill whisper from the foot of the stairs. Peggy was out of the chamber and at the head of the stairs in an instant. Sally stood below, and though the stairway was so dimly lighted that Peggy could scarcely distinguish the outlines of her form, she knew that her friend was greatly excited. She was telling her something in so low a tone that Peggy could hardly hear what it was, but she gathered enough to send her flying back to her cousin.
“’Tis the sheriff,” she cried. “Get into the closet, quick.”
Clifford Owen stayed not for a second bidding. He darted into the closet back of the great tester bed, and the door of the concealed room clicked softly. In anticipation of such an emergency the shelves had been removed, and Peggy now replaced them. Hurriedly she tossed some piles of linen on them, and then resumed her seat before the fire. She had barely done so when the dooropened, and Sally, followed by Sheriff Will and two of his men, appeared on the threshold. To Peggy’s amazement the girl was laughing.
“What does thee think, Peggy?” she cried gaily. “The sheriff insists that he must look here for that escaped prisoner. He hath almost scared mother out of her wits, and now he is trying to fright us. I have told him to search all he wishes.”
“I hope that you are as innocent as you appear, Miss Sally,” spoke Sheriff Will gruffly. “I’ve a suspicion that you two fooled me nicely last night, but ’twon’t happen again. I said down-stairs that I was aware that the closet in this room concealed a hiding-place.”
“La, la!” laughed Sally saucily. “So thee did. And how will thee find it, friend?”
“Sam, give a hand with this bed, will you?” ordered the sheriff.
To Peggy’s consternation the men moved the heavy bedstead out into the room, and Sheriff Will opened the door of the closet. Deliberately he threw the linen on the floor, and began to draw out the shelves. A mist swam before her eyes. She felt her sensesgoing, and then sat up suddenly as Sally ran to the door, now fully exposed to view.
“Doesn’t thee want me to open it for thee, Friend Will?” she asked merrily. “Behold what thee will behold!” With this she flung wide the door.
“Sally!” gasped Peggy in agonized tones. “Oh, Sally, how could thee?” For the open door revealed Clifford Owen sitting on the floor of the concealed room.
All the color faded from Sally’s face at sight of him. She stood a picture of consternation, looking from one cousin to the other seemingly unable to speak.
“Thank you, Miss Sally,” spoke Sheriff Will sarcastically. “’Twas well played, but I think you overreached yourself for the nonce. Something went awry. Come out, young fellow! ’Tis a pretty chase you’ve given me. Come out, or I’ll shoot.”
“I yield, sir,” answered Clifford Owen crawling out. “I yield—to treachery. I congratulate you, Mistress Sally. The dungeon of which you spoke was not so much of a myth as I had supposed.”
But at that Sally regained her tongue.
“Peggy,” she cried flinging herself down beside her friend, “didn’t thee hear me? I said the loom. I said the loom, Peggy. Oh, I never meant—I didn’t think he was there. Tell him, Peggy! Make him believe me. Thee knows that I wouldn’t do such a thing. Tell him, Peggy.”
“‘Thus do all traitors,’” quoted Clifford with an upward curl of his lip. “‘If their purgation did consist in words, they are as innocent as grace itself.’ I was a fool to trust a woman. Officer, take me where you must. Any place is preferable to breathing the same air with treachery.”
“Clifford, Clifford!” cried Peggy going to him. “I am so sorry that it hath come out so. Oh, Clifford, what can I do for thee now? And Sally! I know that it happened as she hath said. She would not——”
“You can do naught, my cousin,” answered he, his eyes softening as they rested upon her. “You, at least, are guiltless of overt act toward me.”
“And Sally also,” she began eagerly, but the boy’s lips set in a straight line.
“We will not discuss it,” he answered loftily.“I hope that no trouble will come to you, Peggy.”
“Trouble,” echoed Sheriff Will “They shall both be indicted for this. ’Twas a neat trick, but ye won’t find the Supreme Executive Council so easily deluded. Was your father concerned in this, Miss Peggy?”
“No,” replied she quickly. “He knows no more of it than thee does, Friend Will. I alone am to blame for all that hath occurred. Sally only helped for friendship sake.”
“You shall hear of it,” spoke the sheriff grimly. “Come on, young man. We have wasted too much time on you already.”
“Don’t hurry him away, Friend Will,” pleaded Sally sobbing. “Let me tell him how it was. Do let me talk to him a moment.”
“Lead on,” commanded Clifford, turning his back upon her decidedly. “Why dally longer?”
Without another glance at the weeping Sally he was led away between two of the men.
“Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world,But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,Should well agree with our external parts?”—“Taming of the Shrew.”
“Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world,But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,Should well agree with our external parts?”
—“Taming of the Shrew.”
“I didn’t mean it, Peggy,” sobbed Sally over and over. “Thee knows that I didn’t mean it to turn out so. Thee knows that I wouldn’t do such a thing, doesn’t thee? I said the loom. Truly I said the loom. I ran to the stairway just as quickly as I could after the sheriff said he knew of the closet, and I called to thee to tell him to go to the loom. And thee didn’t hear me? Oh, Peggy! Peggy I thee knows that I wouldn’t betray thy cousin knowingly. Thee knows it, Peggy?”
“There, Sally,” soothed Peggy. “I know that thee would do naught that was not honorable. I see it all. All that was intended. Thee thought that Clifford would go up atticbehind the loom, and that by assuming a bold front thee could deceive the sheriff into believing that he was not on the place. Sheriff Will would naturally go to the closet, as he knew of it. I am to blame too, Sally. It was just a miserable misapprehension on both our parts.”
“But Clifford will always believe that I betrayed him,” said Sally chokingly, lifting her tear-stained face. “And oh, I did like him so much! What will they do with him, Peggy?”
“I don’t know,” answered Peggy thoughtfully. “Take him back to Lancaster, probably. Father said this morning that the sheriff told him a number of the prisoners had escaped. Clifford, it seems, had stopped at the sheriff’s own house to inquire the way to the State House. I told him, I remember, that we lived just across from it. His cloak had fallen apart and disclosed his uniform, and some one suspected that ’twas one of the British prisoners. The sheriff was not at home at the time, but when he came he was told of the occurrence, and at once went in pursuit of him. But now,” Peggy concluded soberly,“we must take heed to ourselves. I hope that he believed me when I told him that father had naught to do with the matter. If only the punishment would fall on me, and not on thee, or father, I would not mind what happened.”
“Thee must go to him at once and unravel the whole affair,” counseled Mrs. Evans who had joined them as soon as the sheriff left. “’Tis best that he should know of it at once. Sally, thee must go with Peggy, and tell of thy share in it.”
“Yes, mother,” assented Sally meekly. “Peggy, will thee ever love me again?”
“I haven’t stopped yet, Sally,” replied Peggy kissing her. “Thee must not feel so bad. After all the sheriff might have found him up attic. Thee knows how carefully he searches.”
“I would not have been to blame for that, Peggy. Now Clifford will always believe that I did it on purpose.”
“Perchance there may come a time when thee can explain all to him,” comforted her friend. “Let us go to father now, Sally. He must know all that hath occurred.”
THE TWO GIRLS SET FORTH.THE TWO GIRLS SET FORTH.
Without further ado the two girls set forth for Peggy’s home. The distant hills that ridged the west bank of the Schuylkill stretched a luminous belt in the glistening sunshine. The city was clothed in a garb of pure white, a dazzling garment that was symbolical of the peace with which The Founder desired his beloved city to be filled. But there was little peace in the hearts of the two maidens who wended their way sadly and silently toward the Owen home in Chestnut Street.
David Owen, his wife, Nurse Johnson, Robert and Fairfax were assembled in the living-room of the dwelling. They rose with exclamations of dismay at sight of Peggy’s pale face, and Sally’s red eyes.
“What hath happened, lass?” cried her father. “Thou art in trouble. Is it of a serious nature?”
“Yes, father,” answered the girl tremulously. “It may be grave trouble for thee, though it should be for me alone, as I am solely to blame.” She paused for a moment to steady her voice, then continued: “Father, the escaped prisoner whom the sheriff soughtwas Clifford. He came here yesterday just after dinner asking for shelter. I could not turn him away in such a storm. Indeed, he would not have sought us out at all had it not been for the weather. And—and I hid him in the kitchen chamber.”
“Clifford!” ejaculated her father. “Thy Cousin Clifford? But where is he now? The kitchen chamber was searched, but we found no one there. Where is he?”
“The sheriff hath him,” Peggy told him chokingly. “Sally took him home with her last night, and I went there to see him this afternoon. I met the sheriff in Fourth Street as I left here, and he must have followed me; for I had scarce begun to talk to Clifford when he came and took my cousin. He talks of an indictment.”
Both girls were crying by this time, and with an exclamation of concern Mrs. Owen hastened to them, and drew them into an embrace.
“There! There!” she said soothingly. “David will manage it somehow. Don’t sob so, Sally. After all thee is not so much to blame. Perchance the Council will excuse what thee did, as ’twas to help Peggy.”
“I don’t care for the old Council,” flashed Sally through her tears. “’Tis that Peggy’s cousin thinks that I betrayed him. I thought he was up attic, and he wasn’t. I told Peggy to tell him to go there, but she did not hear me. Thee knows my fault, Mrs. Owen,” she wailed in an agony of self-reproach. “Thee knows just how froward and saucy I can be, and I was just that way with the sheriff, and—and pert. He spoke of the closet, showing that he knew of it, and I was so sure that Clifford was up attic that I asked the sheriff if I should open the door for him. I did, and there was Clifford,” she ended with a fresh burst of tears.
“I know just how you feel,” interposed Nurse Johnson sympathetically. “And so the prisoner was Clifford? Well, I am sorry that he was taken. Tell us all about it, Peggy.”
“Yes, lass,” spoke David Owen. “Calm thyself as soon as may be, and let me know the matter in detail. I must know all concerning it.”
Mr. Owen spoke gravely. Well he knew what the feeling was toward those who assistedprisoners of war in escaping. Aiding or abetting the enemy in any way was not tolerated, either in the city or the country at large. The systematic cruelties practiced toward the American prisoners both in the dreadful prison ships and the jails, the barbarities perpetrated toward their countrymen in the South, the harassing of the coasts, the raids of the refugees, the capture of their merchantmen by British privateers; all these things and many others served to keep the hearts of Americans inflamed with rancor toward the English. They were not disposed to overlook any indulgence displayed toward such an enemy.
Presently Peggy had so far recovered her usual composure that she was able to relate succinctly all that had occurred. Her father listened attentively.
“Why did thee not come to me for aid, lass?” he asked when she had finished the recital.
“Why, father, ’twould go hard with thee were it to become known that thee had given aid to a prisoner,” answered Peggy. “I wished to keep thee clear of it. Then, too,thee might have deemed it duty to give up my cousin, and I could not bear that; yet I should want thee to do what was right.”
“I think I understand, lass,” he said, “’Twas most ingenious to think of having him come to the door as Sally’s escort. I knew not that thou hadst so much of daring in thee to originate such a plan.”
Peggy flushed scarlet at this. She had suppressed all mention of Fairfax’s connection with the matter, wishing not to implicate him. So she stared at her father in an embarrassed silence, uneasy at the praise she did not merit.
“But why was he not discovered?” went on David Owen musingly. “The room was searched twice. By the way,” turning suddenly toward Fairfax Johnson, “captain, was it not thee who went up there first?”
“It was, sir,” answered the young man promptly. “I stumbled over Clifford, who was lying wrapped up in a fur rug. He chuckled as I did so, and I knew at once who it was. I had known him in Williamsburgh, you remember.”
“Why didst thou not cry out? Thou werttaken unawares, as it were. I marvel at thy command,” and Mr. Owen regarded him keenly.
“Well,” hesitated the youth, “I went up there because I suspected that Miss Peggy had some one hidden there, and I wanted to help her.”
“Thou knew of it? But how?”
“Because she was out of the room longer than any one after dinner, and had time to make arrangements of that nature if she so desired, sir. Then too she did not reply when the sheriff asked us all to say whether we had seen anything of a British prisoner.”
“All this went on, and I saw naught of it!” exclaimed Mr. Owen. “Why! where were my eyes? I would have affirmed that I could account for every action of every member of the household.”
“We younger people were together a great deal yesterday, sir. We had more opportunities for observing if anything was amiss with one of our number than you would have.”
“Was it thou who wast responsible for the plan of getting away?” questioned Mr. Owen.“Methought ’twas too daring to have originated with Peggy.”
“Well, yes,” acknowledged Fairfax flushing. “The daring lay only in the execution of it. The girls and Clifford furnished that.”
“But to risk thy liberty for such a thing, lad! Was it worth while to jeopardize thy new commission to aid Peggy with her cousin?”
Fairfax stirred restlessly.
“But I was under great obligations to Clifford too, sir,” he made answer presently. “He kept my mother from molestation in Williamsburgh when the enemy was in possession of the place. I was in duty bound to help him.”
“And next I shall hear that Robert hath been concerned in the affair too,” uttered David Owen, turning to Robert Dale with a glimmer of a smile. “I begin to believe that there hath been a regular conspiracy among you young people. Speak up, lad. What did thee do?”
“Very little,” answered the youth frankly. “Not so much as I should have liked to do, Mr. Owen. I did not know that ’twas Peggy’scousin whom she was hiding. I did know that there was some one. I suspected who Sally’s escort might be, and when I saw that she was dismayed at the prospect of having to bring him to the table, I spoke as I did to help her.”
“Without knowing who it might be, Robert?” exclaimed Mr. Owen in amazement.
“Peggy would conceal no one without thinking it right, sir,” returned Robert simply. “I think we all know that is the reason we stood by her.”
“Well, upon my word!” David Owen rubbed his hands thoughtfully. “And how is Betty concerned?”
“Betty is entirely exempt from the matter, I believe,” remarked Major Dale smiling. “The rest of us are guilty.”
“Did I do wrong, father?” asked Peggy timidly. “Is thee angry with me?”
“Nay, lass. With thy soft heart thee could not do otherwise. Yesterday was no day to turn any one from shelter, even though he were not thy cousin. I would not have thee insensible to mercy, no matter who asked it.I grieve only that such an act should involve thy young friends in consequences which may prove of serious character to all concerned.”
“We are willing to abide by the consequences,” spoke the two youths simultaneously. Mr. Owen shook his head.
“Nay,” he said. “I will not permit it. Peggy alone must be held responsible for what hath occurred. ’Tis just and right. I will see if aught can be done with the Council. I want also to find where Clifford hath been put, to see if I shall be allowed to do anything for him. At times food and comforts are given to prisoners, and perchance we may be permitted to do this for him.”
“And oh, Mr. Owen! if thee does see him, tell him how it happened,” pleaded Sally. “I could bear a term of imprisonment better than that he should esteem me a treacherous friend.”
“I will do what I can, Sally,” he promised her.
David Owen was absent for nearly two hours, and an anxious time of waiting it proved. The girls were comforted and petted by the two ladies, while the youths madethem relate over and over all the incidents leading to the capture of Clifford. At length Mr. Owen returned.
“Clifford is in the new jail pending his return to Lancaster,” he told them. “I saw and talked with him. I told him all that thee wished, Sally, and that thee had naught to do with his capture. He exonerates Peggy from all thought of treachery, but I grieve to say that the lad exhibits a perverse disbelief in thee, Sally. He would hear of no excuse for thee, though I tried to make him understand how it all came about.”
“I knew it,” said Sally with tears. “I knew he would not believe in me.”
“Never mind, Sally,” said Peggy. “I will try to see him, and I will make him listen to reason.”
“Thee will not be permitted, lass. It was granted me as a great favor, but, because of the aid which thou didst render him, ’twould be most unwise for thee to seek to see him. I arranged with Mr. Ledie that as much comfort should be given him as is compatible with his state as prisoner. ’Tis all that can be done.”
“And the Council, David?” queried hiswife, anxiously. “Could thee do anything about that?”
“The Council have consented that Peggy and Sally shall appear before them on the morning of Second-day at ten of the clock, to show cause why they should not be indicted. ’Tis an unheard of thing to permit it, as ’tis usual to petition, but I asked for their appearance, knowing that their youth would be in their favor. ’Tis a grave matter, as they acknowledged, but I think the most of them feel kindly toward ye. I talked with several.”
But Mrs. Owen saw that he spoke with assumed lightness. “I think,” she said, “that we ought to have Sally’s mother with us. To-morrow is First-day, which will give time to discuss the subject in all its bearings. She should be with us. Robert, wilt thou go for her?”
“With pleasure, Mrs. Owen,” he responded rising. “And we must not forget that Uncle Jacob Deering is one of the Council.”
“True,” exclaimed Lowry Owen, her face lighting up. “True; I had forgotten.”
“Then call them to our presence. Face to face,And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hearThe accuser and accused freely speak.”—Richard II.
“Then call them to our presence. Face to face,And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hearThe accuser and accused freely speak.”
—Richard II.
Monday, Second-day in Quaker parlance, dawned. The intense cold had abated though the air remained crisp and keen. A venturesome robin perched upon the bare bough of a cherry tree that grew near one of the sitting-room windows, and gave vent to his short and frequent song. Sally called Peggy’s attention to him.
“Dost hear what he says?” she cried. “Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up! ’Tis a harbinger of spring, and flowers, and warmer weather. Who knows but that he brings good luck to us too, Peggy?”
Peggy smiled sadly.
“I hope so,” she made answer. “But oh! I do wish this interview with the Council were over.”
“And so do I,” agreed Sally soberly. “’Twill soon be now, Peggy, for here comes thy mother to call us to get ready.”
“Yes,” spoke Mrs. Owen overhearing the words. “David says that as soon as ye have donned your wraps ’twill be time to go.”
Peggy and Sally were Quaker maidens, well drilled in art of self-repression, so they made no scene as they bade their mothers farewell, and took leave of Nurse Johnson, her son and Robert Dale. In spite of their training, however, their eyes were wet, and neither was able to speak for a few moments after they left the house. Then Sally broke the silence.
“Peggy,” she said, “after this I shall always have the greatest sympathy for the poor wretches who are executed. I feel just as though I was about to be hanged.”
“So do I, Sally. How great a change is wrought by war! A few short years ago neither of us thought to be called before the highest tribunal of the state. How happy we were before this awful war with its weary years of fighting came! Then we had no thought of sorrow, and friend was not against friend, misconstruing every act and deed of kindness.”
“I think I would not pursue that line of talk, lassies,” commented David Owen who walked in front of them. “See how brightly the sun shines! How blue the sky is! Beyond that azure is One in the hollow of whose hand ye are. Have courage.”
“Yes, Mr. Owen,” gasped Sally, stopping abruptly as they reached the walk leading to the State House entrance. “Yes; but what hath happened to the State House? ’Tis so big. I knew not that ’twas so large.”
Peggy stopped too and looked up at the State House, which stood some twenty-five or thirty feet back from the street. It was large, she reflected, its size impressing for the first time in her life with a sense of awe. She had always lived across from the building. Had loved it, and had been proud of the fact that it was deemed the most imposing edifice in the new world; now its aspect was one of forbidding unfamiliarity. David Owen gave them no time to indulge in fears, but hurried them at once along the walk and up the flight of five steps which led to the entry. The door opening into the East Chamber stood ajar. He glanced toward it quickly.
“The Congress is in session,” he remarked. “There are matters of import before it to-day, I hear. His Excellency meets with it.”
Lingering not, though he cast a wishful look toward the room, he led them to the second story of the building, pausing presently before the door of a chamber on the west side.
“I can go no further with ye,” he said sadly. “Ye will have to depend upon yourselves now, but there is naught to fear. Be of good courage, and answer all that is asked of ye with exact truth. And now farewell!”
He turned from them abruptly, and went hastily down the stairs as though he feared that he might give way to emotion. For a brief second the maidens stood, and then the door was opened, and the doorkeeper bade them enter. Summoning all her courage, Peggy grasped Sally’s hand, and went in.
At this time the government of Pennsylvania differed slightly from that of the other states. The old Committee of Safety had merged into what was called The Supreme Executive Council. There was an Assembly, which, in session with the Council, elected a Governor who was called the President ofthe state, the Vice-president being elected in the same manner. The President was Captain-General, and Commander-in-chief of all of Pennsylvania’s forces, and upon the Council devolved the administrations of all war matters. Its chief executive committees constituted a Board of War and a Navy Board. The former had charge of the land service; the latter of the water, both under the direction of the Council. A very careful and exact account of affairs in the state was kept by means of ward committees in the cities and districts, and any infraction of measures adopted for the public safety was known almost immediately to the Council. It was before this high tribunal that the girls had to appear.
Peggy’s heart sank as they entered the chamber, and she encountered the grave glances of the men assembled there. There were not more than a dozen in session, for the Council was a small body. Some of the members she knew well, others only slightly. They were courteous, kindly men with the best interests of their country at heart, but stern and implacable toward the least infringementof patriotism. And so the girl’s heart beat tumultuously as she advanced timidly toward the platform upon which the President, Mr. Moore, was seated.
He rose as the trembling maidens paused before him, and stood for a moment looking at them in silence. It seemed to Peggy that his glance searched every recess of her heart. She grew pale before his intense gaze, and her eyes fell. Sally, on the contrary, seemed to have recovered her customary composure. She suddenly stood erect, and looked about her. Presently she saw Mr. Jacob Deering, and smiled a greeting. The old gentleman was visibly uneasy under her glance, and opening his snuff-box he took a huge pinch of snuff.
“Margaret Owen.” Peggy started as the unaccustomed appellation fell from the lips of the President. “It hath been brought to the attention of this Council that you have given aid to a prisoner of war. That you have harbored one of the enemy, and have tried to abet his escape. What have you to answer to this charge?”
“’Tis true,” faltered the girl in a low tone.
“When did it occur?”
“Last Sixth-day.”
“Which was Friday, the first day of this month. Was your father at home at the time?”
“Yes,” answered Peggy quickly, “but he knew naught of it.”
“And did you not know that it was a misdemeanor to succor one of the enemy?”
“Yes, friend; I knew it.”
“You knew that ’twas a misdemeanor, and yet unbeknown to your father you still committed it?” he asked, as though amazed at such duplicity. “Did you not know that such an act might bring suspicion upon him? Did you not know that even though he had given good service to the cause, even that would not avail him if he were suspected of abetting a prisoner’s escape? Whom can we trust since General Arnold failed us?”
Peggy was too full of emotion to be able to do more than nod acquiescence.
“Then if you knew these things, why did you do this?” he demanded, his brow darkening.
“He was my cousin, Clifford Owen,” she told him brokenly. “I could not refuse him shelter in such a storm.”
“Clifford Owen? A son of that Colonel Owen who as a prisoner on parole stayed at your house?”
“Yes,” answered Peggy.
“A brother to that Mistress Harriet Owen who played the spy with our army at Middlebrook, and who while at your house tried to communicate with the enemy at New York and was banished for so doing?”
“Yes,” answered the girl again.
“And to favor one of these cousins you would do that which might cause doubt to be cast upon your father’s patriotism, and bring this friend here under displeasure of this tribunal? This friend who hath served us so nobly as nurse.”
“Thee must not do anything to Sally,” cried Peggy, roused by this speech. “I alone am to blame for everything. None knew that I hid my cousin, and Sally helped only because she saw how greatly I was distressed lest Clifford should be taken. She did not know him, and only helped me out of friendship.Ye must do naught to her. There is no one to blame but me.”
“And do you justify yourself for involving a loyal friend in difficulty by the mere fact that the prisoner was your cousin?” he asked, and the cold incisiveness of his tone made the girl shiver. “You have said that he was your cousin, Margaret Owen, as though that were excuse for disloyalty. Ye have both attended Master Benezet’s school; while there did ye not read of one Junius Brutus, who sentenced his own sons to death when he found them implicated in a conspiracy against the country?”
“Yes, we read of it,” interposed Sally so shrilly that the grave men who composed the semicircle were startled into keen attention. “We read of it, Friend Moore; but does thee think their mother would have done it? I’ve often wondered where Mistress Junius Brutus was. Had he been my husband,” with an impressive shake of her curly head, “I’d have led him a life of it after such an act. ’Twas unnatural and cruel, I think. Of course Peggy hid her cousin. Is she not a female? Think ye that females are made of such sternfiber that a relative, even though he were an enemy, would ask aid and be refused? I don’t believe that there is one of ye but what would do the same thing under like circumstances. Thee has spoken of what I have done for the Cause. Why doesn’t thee mention Peggy’s services? Didn’t she ride in the cold and the storm to inform General Putnam of the spy, Molesworth’s plot? Hasn’t she worked to keep the hands, and the feet, and the backs of the army warm? I don’t believe that another girl in the Union hath knit so many mittens and socks, or made so many shirts as Peggy Owen hath. I can’t begin to tell all she hath done for the Cause; and yet just because she hath regard for her kin, which being a woman she cannot help, ye want to convict her of a misdemeanor. ’Tis monstrous! How can she help softness of heart? Hath she not been taught every First-day to do good to them that despitefully use her? When I first went into nursing I hated the English intensely, and when the wounded were brought in I’d attend to our own soldiers first, no matter how badly the others were hurt. And then one day, Dr. Cochrane said to me: ‘They’re allmothers’ sons, Miss Sally. Somewhere, some woman is waiting and praying for each one of them. Our own boys might be in like predicament with the enemy. Treat them as you would like our own treated.’ Since then,” Sally continued half crying, “I’ve tended them all alike—American or English, French or Hessian.”
“Bless my soul!” ejaculated Jacob Deering, as the maiden’s voice broke. Like a flash she turned upon him.
“Thee has a niece, Kitty, hasn’t thee, Friend Deering?” she cried.
“Why, so I have, Miss Sally. So I have.”
“And she married an Englishman, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” he answered with a bewildered air. “Yes, she did.”
“Now, Friend Deering,” she cried, shaking her finger at him earnestly, “just suppose that Kitty’s Englishman had come to thy house for shelter last Sixth-day, when it was so cold and stormy that thee would feel bad if the house cat was left outside? Suppose he had come asking for shelter? Would thee be any the less a friend to thy country if thee shouldlisten to the dictates of humanity and give him shelter?”
“Bless my soul!” ejaculated Mr. Deering, again helping himself liberally to snuff. “Bless my soul!”
“Wouldn’t thee give him shelter?” persisted she. “Wouldn’t thee, Friend Deering?”
“Zounds! Of course I would,” he cried. “Englishman, or not. No matter what he was, I would turn no man from my door on such a day.”
“Of course thee wouldn’t,” she cried in a blaze of indignation. “Yet thee and thy fellows here want to indict Peggy and me for the very thing ye would do yourselves. Shame on ye!”
“Indict ye!” cried the old gentleman, getting to his feet with the agility of a youth. “Indict ye!” he roared, shaking his fist at the council belligerently. “If any man dares to indict so much as a hair of your pretty heads he shall answer to Jacob Deering.”