"And the Council, David?" queried his wife, 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."



CHAPTER VIII

BEFORE THE COUNCIL

"Then call them to our presence. Face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The 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 of the 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 infringement of 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 stern fiber 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 all mothers' 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 should listen 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."



CHAPTER IX

OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE

"Long war without and frequent broil within Had made a path for blood and giant sin, That waited but a signal to begin New havoc, such as civil discord blends, Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends."

—"Count Lara," Byron.

The two mothers were at the door to greet them as David Owen brought the girls back. Both girls were much excited, half laughing, half crying, over the turn events had taken.

"'Tis good news, I can see," said Mrs. Owen leading them into the sitting-room. "As to how it came about I can gather nothing clearly."

"Oh, 'twas Sally, Sally," cried Peggy. "'Tis said that Mr. Henry of Virginia is eloquent, but ye should have heard Sally. He could not excel her."

"'Twas a complete rout," declared Mr. Owen, his usual composure somewhat ruffled. "Here I was down-stairs beset with anxiety lest untoward sentences be passed upon the girls when down from the Council chamber they came, escorted by Mr. Jacob Deering and President Moore himself. Sally addressed the honorable body with so much unction, I hear, that thy uncle, Robert, at once declared for them. In fact, his championship took the form of a direct challenge, which caused so much merriment that the Council was unable to proceed with the business before it, and an adjournment was taken until this afternoon."

"But what happened? What did you say? Do tell us, Sally," urged Robert Dale. "I acknowledge that I am consumed with curiosity. I am sure the others are affected in like manner. We were just sitting here while you were gone trying to cheer each other by hoping that the sentence would be fines rather than imprisonment. And here you come back with neither, it seems, and colors flying. Do tell us what happened."

"Well," laughed Sally, who was plainly elated over the matter, "I was greatly frightened until we entered the Council chamber; but do ye know," she broke off excitedly, "just as soon as I saw those men I knew that there was not one of them who would have refused Clifford shelter that stormy day? So I told them so. That's all."

A shout of laughter greeted this explanation. When it subsided Peggy spoke.

"Thee didn't tell them about Brutus, Sally," she chided. "'Twas that that first excited thy ire." With that she related in detail all that had taken place.

"Hurrah for Sally! And hurrah for Uncle Jacob too," cried Robert. "'Twas wonderful, as Peggy says. How did you happen to think of it, Sally?"

"'Twas high time that I did something to redeem myself," answered Sally. "After all," she continued a trifle wearily, for in spite of the petting and being made much of even her buoyant nature was beginning to feel the strain of events, "after all, I should not have been obliged to do it. Peggy and I are in our own city. It hath been a long war, and from the first we have shown our patriotism by doing what we could. Whenever anything of this sort occurs it should not be necessary to do aught but explain how the matter came about without fear of punishment."

"War breeds suspicion, my child," explained Mr. Owen gravely. "The purest patriots are open to it; for sometimes treason lurks where 'tis least suspected. Were it not that a close watch is kept we should have been betrayed to our undoing long since by traitors and spies. For greater security, therefore, Whigs submit to an espionage that at times is most irksome and unpleasant."

"I see," said Sally. "I see. I—— Oh, I'm so tired!"

And with that—here was Sally on the floor in a dead faint. With an exclamation of alarm Peggy bent over her.

"All this hath been too much for her," she cried. "And 'tis my fault. Oh! I should not have let her help with Clifford."

"Nay, Peggy; she hath not been strong for some time," returned Mrs. Evans, as Mrs. Owen and Nurse Johnson brought burnt feathers and vinegar. "She overtaxed her strength at the hospital which is the reason that she hath remained at home this spring. She must have a change when a little stronger."

So, on her return to consciousness, Sally found herself put to bed and declared an invalid. Peggy insisted on being installed as chief nurse.

"But I shall go down-stairs to-day, Peggy," spoke Sally on the morning of Wednesday. "I heard Nurse Johnson say last night that thy father was to start for Lancaster this afternoon."

"He is, Sally. And what does thee think? Robert is to go with him."

"Robert?" exclaimed Sally amazed. "Why, Peggy, his furlough hath but just begun."

"I know. Father reminded him of it, but he thought the prospect alluring, because father spoke of the danger of robbers. It seems that the woods of the great road to Lancaster is infested with them, and that government stores are their especial prey. The journey will be fraught with no little peril."

"How quickly he tired of us," mused Sally. "Here 'twas only Fifth-day of last week that he came, and now he is to take to the field again. Fie, fie! Is that the gallantry of the military?"

"Perchance," answered Peggy laughing at her friend, "perchance, Sally, he hath been without leave for so long that he doth not know what to do with himself when off duty."

"I dare say, Peggy. Oh, dear! would I were going somewhere. I would not care how much danger there was if I could get away for a time." Sally sighed deeply. "I have been here all my life, Peggy, save for the summers we've spent at the farm. I wish I could have a change."

Nurse Johnson entered the room as the girl concluded her remarks.

"It is anent that very thing that I have come to speak to you both," she said seating herself on the side of the bed. "Why could not you and Peggy go to Jersey with me for a while? You need a change, Miss Sally, and my sister is near enough to the coast for you to have the benefit of the sea air. She hath a large house, and likes young company. We will give you a fine time, and 'twould do you no end of good. Will ye go?"

"Oh, I should like it," cried Sally eagerly. "If Peggy will go I am sure that mother would be pleased to have me accept, Friend Nurse. Will thee, Peggy?"

"I'll have to see mother about it, Sally," answered Peggy slowly. She did not like the thought of leaving home again even for a few days, but Sally did need a change. She had extricated her from a grave difficulty, and so, stifling a sigh, she added: "I will go if mother will consent to it."

"I'm going to get up," spoke Sally decidedly. "When did thee wish to start, Friend Nurse?"

"I should like to go to-morrow," answered Nurse Johnson. "Fairfax hath made arrangements for a large sled to use in place of the double wagon in which we came. That will make traveling easy, and we should start while the snow is on the ground. Should there come a warm spell the roads would be terrible."

"Let's go right down-stairs to see about it," cried Sally. "If we go to-morrow there will be need for haste. See, Friend Nurse, the mere thought of going with thee hath given me strength. How much better I do feel already."

"I'll see that you have some color in these pale cheeks before I'm through with you," declared Nurse Johnson pinching them lightly. "With Peggy and me to look after you a few days will make a great difference in you. Yes; let's see about it right away."

After all the matter was not mentioned immediately. David Owen had received some further orders which hastened his departure, and in the confusion of preparation the subject was not broached. It was at the tea table that Nurse Johnson unfolded the plan.

"And the raids, Friend Johnson?" spoke Mistress Owen. "Doth thy sister live where she would be subjected to them?"

"When Brother Tom wrote he said that there had been no trouble since Yorktown," answered Nurse Johnson. "Did I think for one moment that there was danger I should not wish to take them into it. But Freehold is some distance from the coast, though the sea breezes have an appreciable effect upon the climate, and 'twill be of benefit to both girls to get away for a little while. Miss Sally certainly needs the change. I would take good care of them."

"I do not doubt it, friend," answered Peggy's mother. She saw that Sally was eager for the trip, and knew that the girl's mother would consent to it only on condition that Peggy would go also. Both Mrs. Owen and her daughter felt that it would be ungracious to refuse, and consent was given.

So it came about that the next morning, so well wrapped up that they declared themselves unable to breathe, Peggy and Sally were helped into the big double sleigh that Fairfax had secured, and the journey toward New Jersey was begun.

There is something exhilarating about the beginning of any journey. Add to it youth, brilliant sunshine, the keen air of a frosty morning, and the high spirits of the maidens will be understood. Sally was almost wild with delight.

"Oh, Friend Fairfax," she cried leaning forward to speak to him as the party sped away, the snow creaking under the runners, "isn't this just the nicest ride thee ever took? Isn't thee having just the best time?"

"Yes," answered the youth so briefly that her face clouded. Fairfax was once more enveloped in his garb of bashfulness, and attended strictly to the driving, letting the task of entertaining their guests fall upon his mother.

"I do believe that he is feeling bad because Betty hath not come," pouted Sally in a mischievous aside. "Doesn't thee, Peggy?"

To Peggy's amusement the youth turned quickly:

"I am, Mistress Sally. I—I'd like all three here."

And thus, with laughter and light conversation, the day passed. The beautiful country places which had bordered the road near Philadelphia gave way to pleasant villages, and these in turn were succeeded by thick woods whose pure clean beauty elicited exclamations of delight. In many places the road was unbroken, and the sleigh passed under white laden branches which drooped heavily, and which at the slightest jar would discharge their burden over the party in miniature snow-storms. They had made such a late start that it was decided to lie at Bristol for the night, and reached that place as the afternoon sun began to cast long chill shadows through the darkening woods and to shroud the way in fast deepening obscurity.

Across the Delaware the road took them through dense forests, and over trackless vacancies of snow-clad spaces into which the highway disappeared. There were a few scattering villages, and near these they encountered travelers, but on the highroad they met no one. In spite of themselves this fact wore upon them. The cold was not severe, but there was a stillness that held a penetrating chillness of its own. The country was undulating, swelling into an elevation called the Atlantic Highlands near the coast, and into the range of mountains in the north known as the Kittatinny Hills. All were well covered with forests of pine.

By noon of the third day they emerged from the woods, and found a long stretch of white-clad country before them. A few farms could be seen in the far distance, but otherwise there was no sign of life on the wide expanse. It seemed to Peggy and Sally that the highway lay over vast snow fields, and the glare of the sunlight on the snow began to blur and blind them.

"I should welcome the sight of bird or beast," observed Nurse Johnson. "The stillness hath been oppressive to-day. 'Tis the hard part of winter travel. In summer there is always the hum of insect, or the song of bird to while away the monotony of a journey, but in the winter there is naught to break the quiet. 'Tis as though all Nature slept under the blanket of snow. Still, the riding hath not been hard. A sleigh is so much easier than a wagon. You girls are tired, though, I can see. What are you looking at, Sally?"

"There seems to be something moving over there," answered Sally indicating some small elevations about three miles to the north of the road. "Thee will get thy wish, Friend Nurse, for something is surely moving about. We have seen naught for so long that any living thing is curious. What are those specks, Friend Fairfax? They are too large for ducks."

The youth turned and gazed steadily at the sand-hills to which she pointed. They were covered with snow which made them appear like ice hummocks in the sunshine, and which rendered the small black objects moving among them very distinct.

"They look to me like men," remarked Peggy who sat on the front seat beside Fairfax.

"They are men," he responded. "Men and horses."

"I wonder what they are doing there," cried Sally.

The youth did not reply, and Peggy caught the look that passed between him and his mother. She bent toward him quickly.

"What is it?" she asked. "What does thee fear?"

"I fear they are desperadoes," he replied. "I must make yon farmhouse."

With an exclamation the girl turned to look again at the sand-hills. To her amazement the spots that had been so indeterminate a few moments since now had become a body of horsemen, which was moving rapidly toward them. Fairfax was pale. He leaned forward and spoke to the horses just as Sally cried:

"They see us, Fairfax. They are coming on the run."

"Can you drive, Peggy?" he asked.

"Yes," she told him breathlessly.

"Then take my place," he said. "See the farmhouse to the right on that crossroad? We must make that, Peggy. I must get out the guns. If they catch us there will be a fight."

"I have the ammunition, son," said Nurse Johnson. "Get over here, and let me do the loading."

Peggy took the lines, and the youth stooped down and drew the muskets from under the front seat of the sleigh.

"Drive, Peggy," he called excitedly as he rose with the weapons. "Drive as you never drove before. They are gaining on us."



CHAPTER X

A RACE FOR LIFE

"What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife, The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?

* * * * *

In either cause, one rage alone possess'd The empire of the alternate victor's breast; And they that smote for freedom or for sway, Deem'd few were slain while more remain to slay."

—Byron.

Peggy cast a fleeting glance backward, and the rich bloom of her cheeks faded to paleness as she saw what amazing progress the horsemen had made. Their own horses had been on the road since early morning, and should the beasts of their pursuers be fresher she feared for the result. With this reflection she cast aside her scruples and, taking the whip out of its socket, let it fall in a stinging cut. The horses leaped under the lash, then steadied to a rapid trot. Far behind sounded a faint halloa, but she did not turn her head. The horses demanded all her attention. How far away that farmhouse seemed! Could they reach it before these lawless wretches overtook them? They must. Again she let the lash fall, and the horses were off in a mad gallop.

In some manner Sally and Fairfax contrived to exchange places, and with stern set features the youth sat watching the rapid advance of the enemy, his musket ready for instant use. There were two guns. His mother held the other, and the ammunition lay on the seat between them. Not one of the little party voiced the thought that was in their minds, for each one realized the awful consequences that would follow capture by these desperadoes.

During the latter part of the Revolution there had sprung into existence a class of men which might be termed banditti. They were marauding bands which were restrained from robbery and outrage by no military authority. They infested the woods and preyed upon lone travelers, or small parties journeying upon the highways, and desolated solitary farmhouses at will. No outrage was too great for them to commit. Each state had its quota of these lawless wretches which superadded to the horrors of war.

The state of New Jersey was particularly beset, owing to its geographical situation between the two large cities of New York and Philadelphia. The pines of Monmouth County, in whose boundaries Peggy and her friends now were, afforded a safe hiding-place for numbers of such robbers. They had caves burrowed in the sand-hills near the margin of swamps in the most secluded situations, which were covered with brush so as to be undiscoverable. The inhabitants were kept in a state of constant terror by their visitations, for the object of such visits was to plunder, burn and murder. The farmers were obliged to carry their muskets with them even into the fields. After Yorktown their depredations ceased for a time, but as the British government delayed peace their atrocities were renewed. It was a mongrel crew of this character that was giving chase to the sleigh and its occupants. They were easily recognized by their accouterments.

On! And on! And on! To Peggy the whole landscape was featureless save for the farmhouse in the far distance. The sand-hills with their pines, and the salt marshes to the eastward blended together in an indistinguishable white blur. The wind whistled in their teeth, a rushing, roaring gale, filled with a salt flavor. Her calash had blown off, and her hair was flying, but the girl was conscious of but one thing which was that the thud of horses' feet was drawing steadily nearer.

"Faster, Peggy," cried Fairfax imploringly. "Faster!" As he spoke there came the report of muskets.

A scream burst from Sally's lips as a bullet fell just short of the sleigh. An answering roar came from Fairfax's gun, and the unequal fight was on. Peggy dared not look around.

"The whip," she gasped hoarsely to Sally, for the lash had dropped from her hand and lay in the bed of the sleigh. "The whip."

In an instant Sally had found it, and leaning over the dashboard she let it fall again and again on the horses. Infuriated at such treatment the animals plunged forward madly, and it was all Peggy could do to guide them. The crossroad leading to the farmhouse was but half a mile distant now. There were clumps of pines bordering it which would afford some protection from the bullets of the enemy. Could they reach it? The road swung to the south abruptly, and the horses took it on a sheer run. The noble animals were at their highest speed and doing their utmost, but to Peggy they seemed to move at snail's pace. The yelling, shouting band of ruffians was undoubtedly coming closer. It was amazing with what speed they had borne down upon the sleigh, but they were better horsed. Suddenly the outcries took a louder note. A shower of bullets fell about the sleigh, and in agonized tones Fairfax called to the others to get under the seats. Peggy did not know whether Sally and Nurse Johnson obeyed the command or not, but she did not stir. She could not. She was possessed with the determination to reach the crossroad, with its protecting pines. If they could but reach that road! Sally was sobbing, and Peggy's own breath came gaspingly. She leaned forward, and in utter desperation tried to call to the horses, but her cries were lost in a series of blood-curdling yells from the pursuers.



Fairfax was making a gallant defense, but the odds were greatly against him. It was a miracle that he was not hit by some of the bullets that were falling about them. His own aim had been more fortunate, and three ruffians had toppled from their saddles. Still, it could be but a question of time ere the greater number would be victorious, and that the robbers were aware of this was apparent in their shouts of triumph.

Presently the leader of the band, who was astride a big bay, spurred his horse forward.

"Halt!" he cried. "Halt, young man!" The youth's reply was a shot, and the bay went down.

A howl of rage arose from the marauders, and they tore down the road like so many demons. Just as the sleigh reached the crossroad two of them dashed past to the heads of the horses, and with shouts of exultation reached out to grasp the bits. And then, from out of the thickets of pines, little jets of smoke puffed forth and the two rascals tumbled to the ground. Before the occupants of the sleigh could realize what had happened a body of twenty or thirty troopers rode from among the trees, and made a dash for the enemy. Fairfax uttered a whoop of joy.

"The Jersey Dragoons!" he cried.

At sight of them the bandits turned to flee, but the dragoons were after them on the run, shouting, yelling, and with pistol-balls flying. All became in an instant a scene of the most lively confusion. Volley after volley the troopers poured into the fleeing ruffians, and here and there men and horses dropped.

The air reeked with the smell of gunpowder, and many riderless horses, snorting with fear and pain, galloped with flying reins up and down the road. The ground was strewn with dead and dying, and the snow was trampled and bloody. The onset of the dragoons was pitiless, incessant, furious; no quarter being given. The state wanted these wretches extirpated, and whenever an encounter took place the conflict was sure to be a sanguinary one. Soon the shattered ranks of the ruffian band scattered for the sand-hills, and the captain, knowing that the bandits would have the advantage once the hills were reached, sounded the recall. Reluctantly, his men gave up the chase.

As the dragoons charged the bandits Fairfax had taken the lines from Peggy, and driven beyond range of the bullets, then stopped to watch the assault. Their escape had been so narrow that none of them could realize that their safety was assured. Peggy and Sally were white and shaken, and Nurse Johnson retained her composure with difficulty. Now as the troopers came up to them they welcomed them with deep gratitude.

"'Twas a close call," was the captain's comment to Fairfax. "You were doing nobly, sir, but the odds were hopeless."

"Had you not come, captain, I dare not think of the result," said Fairfax with emotion. "There was but one more round of ammunition left when you appeared with your men, though I knew not of it. Mother here was doing the loading, and she did not tell me."

"I am glad that we happened along," said the officer. "The highways are not safe these days. Our state troops are doing what we can toward making them so, but good men are scarce and robbers many. 'Twas the merest accident that we chose that spot for our midday meal. We were right in the midst of it when you were seen with those miscreants in pursuit."

"But," spoke the youth with some bewilderment, "my uncle wrote that their depredations had ceased since Yorktown."

"And so they did for a time, but the respite was short. What with these robbers, and the raids of the refugees Jerseymen scarce know which way to turn. The state is in truth sorely tried. Where does your uncle live, and for what place are you bound?"

"Thomas Ashley is my uncle. He lives at Freehold, which should not be many miles distant," answered Fairfax. "We came to make our home there. That is, my mother and I did. These two young ladies are visitors."

"Their welcome, while a warm one, is not much to their liking, I'll warrant," said the officer with a light laugh, and a quick glance at the pale faces of the maidens. "Well, you will have no more trouble from this on. This stretch of the turnpike is the most dangerous in the county, and once past it one is safe from molestation. Good-bye! A safe journey to you. I think we shall finish that dinner now."

He would not listen to their thanks, but saluting, wheeled, and rode back to the conflict ground where some troopers were attending to the wounded. Fairfax spoke to the horses, and silently the journey which had had such a tragic interruption was resumed.



CHAPTER XI

THE CHOICE OF FAIRFAX

"Ours are no hirelings trained to the fight, With cymbal and clarion, all glittering and bright; No prancing of chargers, no martial display; No war-trump is heard from our silent array. O'er the proud heads of our freemen our star-banner waves; Men, firm as their mountains, and still as their graves."

—T. Graves.

Although each member of the little party had borne himself well in the face of peril, now each one found himself in the utter exhaustion that follows unusual stress of mind or body. It was no longer possible to lighten the tediousness of travel by conversation, and for this reason the remainder of the journey seemed long and exceedingly wearisome. Had conditions been other than they were both Peggy and Sally would have noticed the broad morasses which bisected the wide plains they were now traversing. They would have exclaimed at the acres of reeds which covered the vast extent of these marshes, and at the wild fowl which rose in clouds from them; for already the ducks were flying. They would have discussed how these swamps became dangerous quagmires at a later season, and how the sandy soil, now so firm and solid under its blanket of snow, would become soft and yielding so that horses could scarce travel through it.

All these things failed to rouse them from the weariness that held them. The over-hanging branches of the leafless trees arched over the highway, and obscured the light of the westering sun. Further on, the road left the forest and ran by open fields and hedgerows of cultivated lands. It was not until they had passed through a low lying plain, and crossed the broad marsh which separated it from the wooded heights of Freehold that it occurred to any of them that they were passing over the battle-ground of Monmouth. Then, as the high peaked roof of the court-house came into view, Nurse Johnson roused herself.

"Is it not somewhere hereabouts that the Battle of Monmouth was fought?" she asked. "Methinks I remember 'twas at the seat of Monmouth County that His Excellency's forces overtook the English."

"Yes." Fairfax looked about him. "The hottest part of the battle occurred at yon parsonage; although I've heard that there was hard fighting over the entire plain."

"Oh, don't talk of battles," broke in Sally glancing about fearfully. "Every bush and tree seems but made to hide an enemy."

"Give me pardon, my dear," spoke Nurse Johnson contritely. "'Tis small wonder that you wish not to hear of battles after the experience of the day. I make no doubt but that all of us will be glad when we are within the sheltering walls of a house. Are we almost there, son?"

"Yes, mother. 'Tis just beyond the village a short distance, though I know not in which direction the farm lies. I will have to inquire at the tavern."

The amber light of dusk was tipping the trees when the youth turned from the highway into the wooded road leading to his uncle's dwelling. The farmhouse was gray and weather-beaten, set in a circle of cleared land, and ringed by the forest. There was something about the well-sweep, the orchard, the gardens, that spoke of neglect and desolation, and Peggy felt a chill go through her as she noted no stir of life about the place. From the open doors of the barn came no movement of restless horse, or low of cattle. Not a twitter nor cheep from the hen-house broke the quiet that brooded over everything. Though it was still early twilight the wooden shutters were tightly closed, and had it not been for the light which streamed through their crescentic openings the house would have been deemed deserted. The girl started nervously as a night-owl hooted suddenly from a near-by thicket.

"I wonder if they are at home?" she mused aloud.

"Why, of course they are, Peggy," answered Sally. "Does thee not see the light?"

"Yes; but——" began Peggy, and paused expectantly as Fairfax, who had alighted, knocked loudly upon the door.

It was a full moment before a reply came; then a man's voice demanded sharply:

"What's wanted?"

"'Tis your nephew, Uncle Tom," answered the lad cheerily.

"Nephew, heigh? I haven't any in this part of the country. You can't put in a take-off like that on Tom Ashley. Clear out! My firelock's ready."

"Well, this is a fine welcome, I must say," cried Nurse Johnson indignantly. "Write for us to come all the way from Virginia to visit you, and then find a firelock ready for us. I don't think much of such doings, Tom Ashley!"

"Why a pox on me!" came in excited accents from behind the closed door. "Didst hear that, Mary? That's Hannah Johnson's voice as sure as preaching. It must be Hannah and her boy."

There followed the rattle of a chain, the drawing of bolts, then the door was flung wide, and the light from a blazing fire in the fireplace threw into strong relief the forms of a man and a woman standing on the threshold.

"Have in, have in," cried the man genially. "Mary, see to the opening of the stable while I bring the folks in. Ye are as welcome as the spring would be, though ye did give us a great scare. 'Twas a most unmannerly greeting, but 'twas not meant for ye. The times are such that no man dares to open his door to a visitor when dark is coming on without he knows who 'tis. This is a surprise. I had writ ye not to come."

"You had, uncle?" queried Fairfax as they shook hands. Thomas Ashley had left the door by this time, and now stood beside the sleigh. "When? We did not get it."

"'Tis not to be wondered at considering the state of the country. I sent it the last of January. Still, so long as ye didn't get it I'm glad ye are here. So you brought your sweetheart along, heigh? Which one is she?"

A ripple of laughter rose to Peggy's lips at the remark. Her spirits had revived as soon as she understood that their reception was due to caution rather than to the lack of welcome, and she spoke roguishly as the farmer assisted her out of the sleigh:

"We did not bring her, friend. Thy nephew hath had to content himself with Sally and me because Betty could not come."

"I'll warrant the boy hath not found the consolation irksome," laughed Mr. Ashley. A twinkle came into his eye as he noted the youth's blushes and the mischievous glances of the girls. "Well, well," he said, "ye are welcome anyway. Now, Hannah, go right in with these girls while nevvy helps me with the horses."

"You surely don't keep that barn door open when there are horses inside, do you, Tom?" Nurse Johnson's disapproval of the lax fastening of the barn was plainly evident in her tones.

"It won't make any difference, Hannah, whether 'tis fastened or not. If there's horses there somebody gets them anyway. We leave the door open to save them the trouble of breaking the bolt."

"Then why do we put the horses there?" queried Fairfax in blank consternation.

"We don't, nevvy." The farmer chuckled. "If we did we wouldn't have them long. Wait a minute. There! There's Mary now."

The dwelling was a story and a half house, with a lean-to attached to one end. Just as Farmer Ashley finished speaking the whole front of the lean-to swung open in a great door, disclosing an aperture large enough to admit both horses and sleigh. Mrs. Ashley emerged from the dark interior as the door swung back, and came toward them.

"Well, that is a contrivance," ejaculated Nurse Johnson after she had greeted her sister. "Who would think of finding a stable right in the house?"

"'Tis the only way we can keep a horse," explained the farmer's wife. "'Tis right next the kitchen, so we know the minute anything is wrong, if we have a horse there; which we have not at present. We believe that no one outside the family knows of its use for such purpose, and 'tis something to have a hiding-place for animals. But come in! Here we stand talking, and you must be both cold and hungry. Come, Hannah! And ye also, my dears. I am glad that the supper is belated to-night, for now 'twill be hot, which is well after a long journey."

Thus talking she led them into the house, carefully bolting the door after them. A door on one side the chimney gave entrance to the lean-to. Another, on the other side of the room, opened into another apartment, but the kitchen itself seemed to be the main living-room. It was large and roomy, and a table drawn up before the hearth was spread for the evening meal. A great fire of pine boughs blazed in the deep-throated fireplace filling the room with fragrance and cheerfulness. The maidens ran to it with exclamations of pleasure.

"Oh!" cried Sally with a deep breath. "How pleasant and homey it is. I feel as though this afternoon were a dreadful dream, and that naught could befall us here. Dost see, Peggy? There is a quilt on the frame. 'Twill be a fine chance to teach Captain Johnson the stitches. 'Twill give him relaxation from military duty."

"He will have small time for relaxation, I fear me," spoke the farmer entering at this moment with Fairfax from the lean-to. "There is to be great activity in the army this summer, I hear. 'Tis to be hoped that something will be done to help us. The Jerseys have suffered greatly in the war, and Monmouth County more than the rest of the state put together."

"We had a taste of what you are going through this afternoon," Fairfax informed them quietly. "We were set upon by robbers, and had it not been for the opportune coming of some state dragoons you would not have had to give us welcome."

"Robbers!" exclaimed the farmer and his wife simultaneously. "Why did you not tell us sooner? Was any one hurt?"

"No," answered the youth. "Of course we were upset, which is small cause for wonderment."

"Tell us about it, nevvy," began Thomas Ashley eagerly, but his wife interposed:

"Now, father, if no one hath received a hurt let's eat before the supper gets cold. A good story will keep better than hot victuals. We shall have the night to talk in. 'Tis a long journey from Virginia, and belike they are hungry. But first, Hannah, tell us who these young friends are."

"Mercy on me, Mary," gasped Nurse Johnson, drawing the girls forward. "I clear forgot my manners. This is Mistress Margaret Owen, who went back with me to Williamsburgh when I was here last year. I have writ you anent her visit, as I make no doubt you remember. And this is her friend, Mistress Sarah Evans. She hath been ailing of late, and methought the change would be of benefit. We call them Peggy and Sally."

"You are both welcome," said the hostess warmly, "though I would the times were not so troublous. What with the pine robbers, the freebooters and the Tories we are in daily dread of attack."

"A plague take the rascals," cried Mr. Ashley excitedly. "No man's life, liberty, or property is safe these days. We are set upon in the fields, and upon the highways. Our dwellings are sacked and burned, and we are thankful if life is left. I tell ye," he cried bringing down his fist upon the table with so much vim that the dishes rattled, "I tell ye New Jersey hath stood the brunt of the war. She hath been, and is now, the battle-field of the new nation. Things have come to such a pass that some way, somehow, relief must be had from these internal enemies."

"But hath nothing been done to rid the state of them?" asked the youth.

"Done? Everything hath been done, nevvy. We have not only furnished our quota of men to the main army, but also formed companies of militia, both cavalry and infantry, to fight these pests. The Legislature is endeavoring to establish a strict patrol of the coast and the highways. In addition, we men who are too old for constant service have formed an association to retaliate upon our greatest enemies, the Tories, and to go out as necessity demands. Why, think of it! Up there in New York City are many of our friends and neighbors formed into a corps called The Associated Loyalists, under the leadership of our former governor, William Franklin. An unworthy son of a great father! At his command this corps harasses the state at will. Knowing the country 'tis easy for it to slip in where the greatest harm can be done, and out it goes before we know 'tis here. Staten Island and Sandy Hook are handy refuges for such raiders. We might handle the robbers, could we be rid of these incursions. We hoped for peace after Yorktown, but the depredations are now worse than ever. Something must be done, for New Jersey's very existence is threatened."

"There seems to be a need of men," remarked the young man musingly. "When am I to report for duty, Uncle Tom?"

Mr. Ashley turned toward him quickly.

"There is need of men," he said. "Your commission was to be with the regular army, if you wanted it so. Colonel Elias Dayton, who now commands the Jersey Brigade at Chatham, wants every man to report for duty this month. But——"

"But what, Uncle Tom?" asked Fairfax as the farmer paused abruptly.

"But I wish ye'd stay in Monmouth, nevvy. We need every man we can get to help us defend our homes. We have sent and sent to the main army until we are almost stripped of fighting men. General Washington may have to go against the English this summer, and then again he may have to lie inactive. It all depends upon the instructions which England will give to the new general who is to supersede Clinton. Of course, with a campaign there would be more chance for glory with the regular line. Such distinction as that must appeal to a lad of parts; but, boy, New Jersey needs you. Why, Washington depends on us for flour, and how can we raise the grain when we are shot down as we plow the fields? A man can do service, and great service, right here in the militia. There won't be much glory, nevvy, but there will be plenty of action. In Freehold there is a company now of twenty-five twelvemonth boys that needs a captain. The Legislature will gladly give you the commission. Now, nevvy, the choice is with you. What will you do?"

The youth let his head fall upon his breast in thought. The supper had long since been finished, and the other members of the group sat interested listeners to the conversation between uncle and nephew. Peggy looked at the young fellow wonderingly. A captain's commission in the regular army was to be desired. She remembered how John Drayton had had to serve for years to obtain one. Such an office gave a rank that no militia could offer. Could any youth deliberately cast aside the distinction? A glance at Fairfax gave no clue to his mental attitude. It seemed a long time that he sat there meditating, but presently he looked up and met the questioning gaze of Thomas Ashley with a smile.

"The greatest need seems to be right here," he said. "I think I'd like to help clear out the Tories, and to get a whack at those pine robbers. I have a reckoning to settle with them on my own account. This field will suit me all right."

"Good for you, nevvy," cried his uncle in a shout. "I thought you'd do it. You are a lad after my own heart. Still, it is only fair that you should know that your task will be fraught with danger. The Tories single out for vengeance any man who fights with unction against them. Let him proceed with too much ardor and he becomes a marked man."

"That is true in any part of the country, uncle, as well as in New Jersey," was the lad's rejoinder. "I am ready for whatever goes with the work."

But at this there came a cry from his mother:

"Tom Ashley, what are you getting my boy into?"

"Nothing that my own boys have not endured, Hannah. One fell in the great battle on yonder plain near the court-house, and lies now in Freehold burying-ground. The other, Charley, made the same choice as your boy, and is down at Tom's River helping to defend old Monmouth."

"But oh——" she began when Fairfax interrupted her:

"It's all right, mother. It means no more danger than I'd have to encounter with the regular army, or than I have already faced in the militia at home."

"It may be," she answered, but her eyes were troubled. "It may be."

"It waxes late," exclaimed Mrs. Ashley glancing at Sally whose eyelids were drooping in spite of herself. "These girls, at least, are ready for bed; and to bed they must go."

And without heeding their protests the good woman hurried them up to a little room under the eaves, nor would she depart until they were tucked warmly in the great feather-bed. Sally's drowsiness left her as soon as she found herself alone with Peggy.

"Peggy," she whispered, snuggling close to her friend, "what does thee think of it all?"

"'Tis like the Carolinas and Virginia were," returned Peggy soberly. "Oh, Sally! is it not awful that men should so hunt and hound each other? The poor people of the states have stood so much that 'tis marvelous that any are left for resistance. Nurse Johnson whispered to me that she should not feel easy until we were back in Philadelphia."

"Would that we were," said Sally earnestly. "Peggy!"

"Yes, Sally."

"I was afraid this afternoon when the robbers attacked us. What if I were to be fearful all the time?"

"We must not be, Sally," spoke Peggy quickly. "'Twould wherrit these kind friends if we were to show fear. They will take excellent care of us, and take us home soon, I make no doubt."

"Isn't thee ever afraid, Peggy?"

"Why, yes; of course," answered Peggy. "Every one is, I think. But mother told me once never to anticipate trouble, and so I try not to think about what might happen. We must be bright and cheerful whatever occurs. It should be easy for thee, Sally. Thee is always happy in the hospital."

"That is because I have something to do," responded Sally sagely. "If one is so busy that one has no time to think one can't be afraid."

"I make no doubt then thee will soon have plenty to occupy thee when Fairfax joins his company, Sally."

Sally laughed as Peggy had intended she should.

"I like Fairfax," she said with emphasis. "But didst notice, Peggy? He spoke not once to either of us after we entered the house. Truly, his diffidence doth envelop him like a mantle; yet, when those robbers were giving us chase, he had no difficulty in telling us just what to do. Indeed, he was then as much at ease in speaking to us as thy father or Robert would have been."

"Then he was doing 'man's duty,'" laughed Peggy. "'Tis marvelous how an emergency doth make him shed his shyness."

"I like him," repeated Sally. "In very truth, Peggy Owen, doth thee not consider him the very nicest lad that we know?"

"And yet," observed Peggy meditatively, addressing the darkness, "methinks there was a girl, not a hundred miles from this very bed, who told me that she agreed with my Cousin Harriet that Clifford excelled all other youths."

"I am going to sleep," announced Sally, turning over hastily. "Does thee not think it time? We had a wearisome journey."

Peggy giggled appreciatively.

"That was a well directed shot," she remarked, "since it hath reduced the ranks to silence."



CHAPTER XII

"THEY MUST GO HOME"

"It wounds, indeed, To bear affronts too great to be forgiven, And not have power to punish."

—"Spanish Friar," Dryden.

"Let them sleep, Hannah. I make no doubt but that they are greatly fatigued."

"Yet methinks they would not care to be left behind if we go to the meeting-house, Mary. Both maidens have regard for the Sabbath. First-day, they call it."

Peggy sat up quickly as the foregoing words penetrated her drowsed consciousness, and parting the curtains of the bed looked out. The door leading into the adjoining chamber was ajar, and through it the voices of the two women sounded distinctly. A flood of bright sunshine filled the little room with dazzling light, and she uttered an exclamation of dismay at the lateness of the hour.

"Sally," she called, bending over her still sleeping friend and shaking her gently, "'tis time to get up. I fear me that we have over-slept."

Sally stirred protestingly between the lavender-scented sheets, then opened her blue eyes sleepily.

"Did mother call?" she murmured. "Oh, dear! I don't want to get up."

"Thy wits are wool-gathering, Sally," laughed Peggy slipping from the high bed without touching the small flight of steps generally used for descending. "Thee is not at home, but in Freehold. We must dress with speed, for the friends wish to go to the meeting-house."

"Heigh-ho!" yawned Sally rubbing her eyes. "Methought I was in Philadelphia, and here we are in—— Is it East or West Jersey, Peggy?"

"Neither. 'Tis New Jersey, Sally."

"But which would it be had they not gone together to make New Jersey?" persisted Sally.

"It seems to me, miss, that for so sleepy a damsel thee is consumed with a great thirst for geographical knowledge," was Peggy's comment as she dipped her face in the washing bowl.

"Does thee really know, Peggy Owen?"

"I don't, Sally. Is thee pleased?"

"Yes," declared Sally. "I thought of course thee would be informed, as thee has traveled so much. Peggy!"

"Well?"

"Did thee name the bedposts to find who would be thy fate? And at which one did thee look? Betty and I always do it when we sleep in a strange bed."

"Yes, Sally. And I looked at this one." Peggy lightly touched the post nearest her.

"Why, that's the very one I saw first," cried Sally excitedly. "For whom did thee name it, Peggy? What if it should be the same as mine! I called it—Fairfax."

"Fairfax," came from Peggy at the same moment. A merry peal of laughter filled the chamber as they uttered the name in unison.

"And how shall it be decided?" cried Sally gaily. "I shall never be second, Peggy."

"What if Betty were here?" queried Peggy mirthfully.

"We should both have to give up then, of course. I'll tell thee what: Being of the sect of Friends we cannot fight a duel, as the world's people do, so when we go down-stairs let's note which one of us he addresses first. That one shall be The One," she ended impressively.

"Very well. Is thee ready, Sally?"

Arm in arm they descended the stairs. A chorus of "Good-mornings" greeted them as they entered the living-room. Mrs. Ashley, who was just putting breakfast on the table, glanced at them smilingly.

"You are both as bright as the morning," she remarked approvingly. "'Tis no need to ask how ye slept. Truly your experience of yesterday doth not seem to have weighed upon you as I feared it would."

"And how I did sleep!" exclaimed Sally. "The bed was so downy that Peggy had hard work to make me get up. What virtue does thee give thy feathers, Mistress Ashley, to make them bestow so sound a slumber?"

"Methinks any bed would have served the purpose when you were so fatigued, child," answered the hostess, pleased nevertheless by the girl's tribute to her feathers. "Nevvy, will you find places for the girls at the table?"

"Certainly, Aunt Mary." Fairfax placed the chairs around the table, then drawing out two of them, turned toward the maidens, his face flushing at the necessity of addressing them, his whole manner betokening the diffidence that beset him. With demure looks but twinkling eyes the girls awaited his next words eagerly. "Have these chairs," he said.

An irrepressible giggle came from Sally. Peggy bit her lips to keep back her laughter, and cast down her eyes quickly. The youth had included both in his speech, and, during the meal that followed, his few remarks were characterized by a like impartiality. When at length all were in the sleigh bound for the meeting-house at Freehold both girls were bubbling over with mischief.

"What spirits you two are in this morning," observed Nurse Johnson. "Do tell us the fun."

"'Tis thy son," explained Sally in a whisper. "We want to see which one of us he addresses singly, because we both named the same bedpost after him, and 'tis the only way to decide our fate. He won't speak to either of us alone," she ended plaintively.

Nurse Johnson laughed heartily, well knowing that these girls liked her boy, and that such teasing as they indulged in was partly girlish fun, and partly a desire to cure him of his bashfulness.

"What a thing it is to be young," she commented almost enviously. "Mary, did we ever do such things?"

"As naming bedposts, do you mean, Hannah? Truly. Many and many a post have we both named."

"And how did it turn out?" asked Sally eagerly. Before the lady could reply Peggy spoke suddenly:

"Why do thy husband and Fairfax carry their muskets?" she inquired with surprise.

"'Tis not safe to go to meeting without them, child," responded the matron gravely. "To such a state hath New Jersey come that 'tis impossible to go from one's door without firelocks."

"'Tis as it was when the country was first settled," remarked Nurse Johnson. "Only then, 'twas fear of the savages, and now——"

"'Tis of a foe no less savage, Hannah," completed her sister. "The long years of warfare have rendered the enemy cruel and pitiless in the extreme."

"'Tis as bad here as on the frontiers," commented Peggy. "Before we came 'twas talked at Philadelphia that an uprising of the Indians was looked for along the borders. In truth, methinks there hath already been atrocities committed upon the settlers, but affairs seem no worse with them than they are here with you."

When they finally drew up before the Freehold meeting-house it was obvious to the least heedful that something unusual was astir. Although the snow lay deep in front of the building and a keen nip was in the air, there were groups of men scattered over the green. Despite the chill, some sat upon the steps of the church, others clustered about the wagons in the wagon-shed, and still others stood about, stamping their feet or swinging their arms to keep warm. But whether sitting or standing each man held a musket in the hollow of his arm ready for instant use, while about the church two men patrolled as sentinels. All the light and laughter died out of the faces of the maidens at these warlike signs, and unconsciously they drew closer together.

"I wonder what hath happened," mused Farmer Ashley stopping before the horse-block. "What's to do, neighbor?" he called to a man in a near-by group.

"Sam Nathan's farm was raided by the loyalists last night, Tom," came the startling response. "His house and barns were burned, and Sam himself killed. His wife and daughter escaped into the woods, and reached Freehold this morning half dead from shock and exposure."

"Sam Nathan!" ejaculated Mrs. Ashley becoming pale. "Why, that was only five miles from us, father. 'Twill be our turn next."

"Now don't go to looking for trouble, Mary," chided her husband. "You women-folks go right into the meeting-house, and whatever you do, be cheerful. Nevvy and I will come in presently."

The church was partly filled with sad-eyed, patient-faced women, whose quiet demeanor was more heartrending than tears would have been. Some gave them the welcome that those who are united in the bonds of affliction give each other; others only stared at them with stony, unseeing eyes. Whose turn would be the next? was the thought that filled every breast. Oppressed and saddened, Peggy thoughtfully took the seat assigned her, and, as Sally sank down beside her, she slipped her hand into her friend's protectingly. Sally responded with a reassuring pressure, and so with clasped hands the two sat throughout the service. And a memorable service it was. While the minister preached, the men took turns in patrolling the building and watching the horses. Beside every pew stood a musket, ready for instant use. Even in the house of God these people were not secure from the attacks of their enemies.

And without the sun shone brightly upon the hills and plains of Monmouth. Over the meadows lay the snow, and on the streams a thick coating of ice; but the pines were green in the woodlands, and the air—though sharp and nipping—still breathed of spring and hope. The land was fair to see in its winter garb. Man alone was the discordant note in Nature's harmony.

As Thomas Ashley had said, all New Jersey was roused to action. Harassed and harried as no other state had been, with the exception of South Carolina, at this time it seemed on the verge of extinction, and its condition was in truth deplorable. In the earlier years of the war it had been swept like a plague by the horde of hireling Hessians and the British army. In addition, the main army of the patriots had wintered for several years among its mountains, and drawn upon it for supplies until the state was all but beggared. But if liberty live the army must eat; so the farmers plowed, and sowed, and reaped, even though many dropped in the fields from the crack of an ambushed rifle.

As though suffering from the depredations of the pine robbers were not enough, there was added to the state's afflictions the incursions of the freebooters of the sea, and, far more bitter to bear—for civil war is ever without mercy and compassion—were the heinous outrages of the Tories. It was no wonder, with foes without and foes within, that the temper of the people had risen to fever heat, and that they were making determined efforts to rid themselves of their enemies.

The meeting was ended finally, and with saddened mien the family reentered the sleigh. Farmer Ashley's face wore a grave expression, while Fairfax's countenance betokened a set determination. He turned toward his mother abruptly.

"Mother," he said, "these girls must go home. New Jersey is no place for them."

"You never spoke a truer word, nevvy," chimed in his uncle. "They must go home; the sooner they start, the better 'twill be. So long as the snow lasts, the riding will be easy. Now, if you are willing to risk another encounter with the robbers, we will start with them Tuesday."

"But would not Friend Nurse and thy wife be left unprotected while ye were away?" questioned Peggy in troubled accents.

"Now, Peggy, don't wherrit over that," spoke Nurse Johnson. "The first thing to attend to is getting you girls home. I should never have another minute's peace if anything befell you. I ought never to have brought you into such danger, but I knew not that things were as they are here. Mary and I can take care of ourselves."

"It won't do, Hannah," said Thomas Ashley decidedly. "The girls must go of a truth, but you and Mary must have protection, too. Capable ye both are, but 'twould not do to leave ye alone. The journey to Philadelphia would take all of six days, there and back. That would mean fast going at that. Should there come a thaw there's no telling when we'd get home."

"Friend," broke in Peggy eagerly, "if thee could get us to Trenton there would be no need for thee to go on to Philadelphia. Both Sally and I have friends there who would see that we reached home safely. Beside, the stage runs thrice a week from that point to our city, and should other means fail, we could take that."

"Come! that's well thought of," he cried quickly. "'Twould be but a day's travel to Trenton, if the snow holds. Mary and Hannah could bide in Freehold until our return; so we'll call the matter settled. Nevvy, we will start Tuesday."

"Then on Tuesday ye will both be gone," said Fairfax with such a sigh of relief that Sally, despite the gravity of the situation, could not forbear a little laugh.

"Oh, Peggy!" she cried, "why weren't we named Betty? Had we been Captain Johnson would not wish us gone as soon as we arrived."

"'Tis not as you think, Mistress Sally," he protested earnestly. "Indeed, in truth "—he faltered, then continued manfully—"did I regard your friend as your words imply I would not consent to wait until Tuesday to take her back."

A puzzled look spread over Sally's face.

"Doth he mean that he is indeed fond of Betty?" she whispered to Peggy under cover of Thomas Ashley's laughter which followed the youth's response.

"I fear to say," was Peggy's amused reply.

And so, in spite of the fact that ravage and pillage had come very near to them in the night, they returned to the farm in much better spirits than would have been deemed possible when they left the meeting-house.



CHAPTER XIII

A WOMAN'S WIT

"Man is not born alone to act, or be The sole asserter of man's liberty; But so God shares the gifts of head and heart, And crowns blest woman with a hero's part."

—Author Unknown.

"Surely thee is not unpacking, Peggy?" questioned Sally as she entered their little room for the night. Peggy had preceded her by a few moments, and was now bending over her portmanteau. "It hardly seems worth while when we return so soon."

"I am just getting my diary, Sally," answered Peggy, drawing forth the book after several attempts to locate it. "Methought the time was propitious to make an entry. And of a verity that encounter with those robbers ought to make exciting reading for the Social Select Circle."

"'Twas a wondrous adventure," cried Sally with a shiver of pure enjoyment. "Since none of us received injury 'tis delightsome to have so stirring a thing to record for the girls. And oh, Peggy! is it not charming that I am with thee?"

"It is indeed, Sally. Anything is always more enjoyable when thee shares it with me; although I agree with Fairfax in wishing that we were at home."

"If we start Third-day we should be there soon, Peggy. Were it not for the danger I should like to stay a little longer."

"And so should I," responded Peggy. "There! that entry is finished, with a half page to spare. Wouldn't thee like to add something, Sally?"

"I'll wait until morning," decided Sally. "Although," she added, "perchance 'twould be best to do it now, as to-morrow will be the day before we leave, and consequently we are quite apt to be busy."

But Monday morning brought a clouded and softened sky; a brisk south wind arose, and the rain came driving. By Tuesday the wind had increased to a heavy gale, and the rain came with violence from the southwest. The snow-drifts that had been so white and fair became yellow, and smirched, and muddy, and lost their curves and lines. The roads were troughs of slush and water, impassable for any sort of vehicle. In spite of this condition of things Fairfax Johnson insisted that the maidens should be taken to Trenton.

"Why, son, 'twould be monstrous to send them forth in such weather," remonstrated his mother. "They would get drenched."

"Better that than to stay here," he declared, but his uncle interposed:

"'Twould never do, nevvy. You couldn't get as far as Freehold with the roads as they are. The rain won't last more than a few days; and if it keeps us in it works the same with the raiders by keeping them out. They won't venture into Monmouth County until the weather changes. They know too well the danger of the quagmires. We must bide our time, nevvy."

And with this the lad was forced to content himself. For three days the rain continued, and with its ceasing every vestige of snow had disappeared, leaving conditions worse than ever. The roads were very soft and heavy, and most perilous where they crossed the marshes. Even the youth acknowledged that travel with a wagon was utterly out of the question. But he himself managed to ride into Freehold daily that he might meet with his company, and begin preparations to take the field as soon as offensive operations by the raiders were resumed.

So the days went by, but they were pleasant and busy ones for Peggy and Sally. True to their resolve to accept with cheerfulness whatever befell, their gay spirits softened and enlivened the gloom which might otherwise have settled upon the family. The mornings were devoted to housework and cookery; the afternoons to quilting the homespun bed-quilt which Sally had noticed in the frames on the night of their arrival. In the evenings all gathered about the great fireplace and indulged in such recreations as the farmhouse afforded. The girls had each set a pair of stockings upon the needles which they declared were for Fairfax, and, much to his embarrassment, he was called upon every evening to note the progress of the work. After the fashion of the time the name, Fairfax, and the date, 1782, were knit in the threads.

Soon the raw winds of March gave place to softer ones which blew caressingly from the south, dispelling all fear of frost. The soft wet of the ground disappeared under the balmy sunshine, and the air was a fount of freshness. The glad earth reveled under the warmth of the sun, and hill and valley, wood and meadow, blossomed under the touch of spring.

Along the Hudson, Washington gathered his forces for a final campaign, for not yet would England consent to terms of peace, and urged with entreaty upon the states the need of men and supplies. But with resources drained, and rendered apathetic by the long years of fighting, the country believed that the crisis had passed, and so responded slowly to the appeals of their leader. Each state had its own troubles that demanded attention, and the general welfare was lost sight of in the specific need. In New Jersey particularly, rent as it was by the internecine warfare, nothing was talked or thought but the putting down of its own individual enemies. As soon as the weather permitted the attacks of the loyalists were renewed with increased virulence. It was as though these people realized that with the coming of peace nothing would remain for them but expatriation, and so were determined to leave behind them naught but desolation.

And to stay this lawlessness the young captain with his company rode hither and thither over the county, pursuing the raiders with so much zeal and intrepidity that their rancor was aroused toward him. There came a day when Fairfax did not return in the evening as was his custom. Far away from the south-eastern part of the county had come the alarm that the refugees, under the leadership of Frank Edwards—a notorious desperado loyalist—had come down from Sandy Hook, and were approaching the neighborhood of Cedar Creek. Upon receipt of the intelligence the young captain had immediately set forth to prevent their marauding progress into the interior. A sharp skirmish took place which resulted in victory for the Monmouth defenders, and when at length they reentered Freehold, they bore with them the notorious Edwards, a prisoner, together with a majority of his Tory band. Thomas Ashley was jubilant when the youth arrived with the news.

"Keep after 'em, nevvy," he cried. "A few more such captures and old Monmouth may rest secure."

"Report hath it that nothing short of hanging will be given Edwards," Fairfax told him. "Few of the band will escape a sentence of some sort. Do you not think, Uncle Tom, that a few days could be taken now to get these maidens home? It preys upon my mind that they are still here."

"And upon mine also, son," said his mother gravely. "If these Tories are as vindictive as I hear they are there will be no safety for any of us since you have taken one of their leaders."

"She speaks truth, nevvy. These girls have no part in this war. Pennsylvania hath woes of her own to endure. It is not just, or fitting that any of her citizens should be called upon to bear ours also. They shall go home."

So once again Peggy and Sally gathered their belongings together for an early start to Trenton. All the day before the maidens were in a pleasurable state of excitement. Each realized that New Jersey was no longer a place for them, so they were glad to go; still, there were regrets at parting from these people who had been so kind, and whom the vicissitudes of fortune might preclude them from ever seeing again. Full of this feeling, Peggy found herself the victim of a pleasing melancholy the night before they were to leave, and it was long past midnight ere she was able to sleep. How long she slept she did not know, but it seemed to her that she had just fallen into slumber when something caused her to open her eyes. For a few moments she lay in that strange debatable region between sleeping and waking when the mind cannot distinguish between the real and the imaginary. All at once she sat up, fully awake, every sense strained and alert. Something was wrong. What was it? She listened intently, but such an intense stillness reigned throughout the house that Sally's soft breathing smote her with a sense of disturbance. Parting the curtains of the bed she glanced apprehensively about the little chamber. The wooden shutters were closed, but through their bow-shaped openings came such a brilliant light that every object in the little room was plainly visible.

"How brightly the moon shines," was her thought, and completely reassured she was about to draw the curtains when again there came the mysterious sound that had awakened her.

It was a crackling, snapping sound such as seasoned wood makes when the flame catches it in the open air. Very much alarmed Peggy slipped from the bed and ran to one of the windows. Softly she raised the sash, then cautiously swung back one of the shutters. She gave a low cry at the sight that met her gaze, and leaned far out of the window. The barn was a mass of flames, and there were dark forms flitting about among the budding trees. The raiders! For a moment she stood stricken with terror. Then the necessity for action roused her. Fairfax! Thomas Ashley! They must not be caught asleep. What would be their portion should these men find them? Full of excitement, her heart beating hard and fast, she sped into the adjoining room where Nurse Johnson slept.

"Awake!" she cried shaking her violently, her whisper rendered sharp and penetrating by fear. "The raiders are here. Thy son, Friend Nurse! There is danger. Oh, wake! wake!"

"What is it, Peggy?" Nurse Johnson was roused at last. "Are you ill?"

"The Tories," gasped the maiden. "They are here. The barn is burning."

In an instant Nurse Johnson was out of the bed, and had started for the door when the calm voice of her son spoke from the entrance:

"I hear. You women get in the middle room, and don't go near a window. Uncle Tom is getting the muskets ready for the assault."

Peggy ran back to close the shutter of the window she had opened, but could not forego a glance downward as she did so. The men, satisfied that nothing would be left of the barn, were now advancing stealthily toward the house, each bearing a lighted pine-knot. The girl's heart beat pitifully as she divined their intention, which was obviously to set fire to the dwelling. She closed the shutter tightly, and then awakened Sally.

"Can't we do something?" whispered Sally, after the women and the two girls had waited in breathless suspense for a few moments. "This waiting in the dark is terrifying. I shall scream if I can't do something."

Before a reply could be made there came a snort of terror from the lean-to, and a shout of triumph broke from the raiders as the snorting discovered the whereabouts of the horses. A ripping, tearing sound betokening that the boards were being torn from the improvised stable to get at the animals followed. A roar of rage burst from Farmer Ashley.

"At 'em, nevvy," he cried. "They're after the horses. He who shoots first has the advantage of the enemy."

The young captain's reply was a shot from his musket. A howl of anger rose from the attackers as the report of Thomas Ashley's gun followed quickly. The two men then ran to other windows and began firing, endeavoring by quick shifting of position to give the impression that a large force was in the house. There were six muskets altogether, and one was placed by each window.

"This is work for us," said Nurse Johnson calmly, as the women and girls in answer to Sally's plea came down-stairs. "We can load while you two do the shooting. Peggy, do you stay with me while Mary and Sally take that side."

There ensued several minutes of brisk work from without as well as within, and bullets came spitefully through windows and doors. Presently Mary Ashley spoke shrilly:

"Father, where is the cartridge paper? There are no more cartridges made up."

"I don't know, mother," shouted Mr. Ashley successfully dodging a bullet that came through a shutter. "Ask nevvy."

But Fairfax turned a look of consternation on his aunt.

"If there are no more cartridges in the pouch we are done for," he said. "There's plenty of powder and ball, but I don't know where to lay hand to wadding."

"Any sort of paper will do, Mary," interposed Nurse Johnson. "Get a book."

Paper was a scarce commodity in those times, and few houses, especially country houses, kept it in quantity. Books were rarer still, so now Mrs. Ashley spoke with the calmness of despair:

"There isn't a book on the place. I let——"

"Wait a minute," cried Peggy. "I have one." She ran up the stairs as she finished speaking and soon returned, a book in her hand.

"Oh, Peggy," wailed Sally, "'tis thy diary. And how will the girls ever know what hath befallen us without it?"

"They are apt to know naught if we do not use it, Sally," said Peggy with some excitement, proceeding to tear the leaves into squares. Presently she paused, powder-horn in hand. "How much powder do I put in, Friend Nurse?" she asked.

While Nurse Johnson was showing the proper amount the enemy's fire slackened suddenly. Farmer Ashley and Fairfax exchanged apprehensive glances. Were they weary, or was their stock of cartridges getting low? Then the fire ceased altogether, and as the smoke lifted Fairfax stole a look through the opening in a shutter. He turned a troubled face toward them after a moment's survey.

"There's nothing to be seen," he said. "Surely they have not gone away?"

At this juncture a call came from outside:

"Tom Ashley!"

"Well? What's wanted?" cried the farmer.

"We want that nephew of yours, and we're going to have him."

"Come and get him, then," growled Thomas Ashley.

"We're going to, Tom. We've burned your barn, and taken your horses. Now unless you let us have that captain we'll burn the house right over your head. Will you surrender Captain Johnson?"

"No," came from the farmer in a roar. "What manner of man do you think I am that I'd let a pack of Tory scoundrels have my nephew?"

"The woods won't be pleasant camping for your women-folks at this time of the year, Tom," came in threatening accents.

"No," shouted the farmer. "You can't have him."

"Uncle, I'd better go out to them," said Fairfax. "If they will promise to let the rest of you alone, and not burn the house, I'll——"

"You'll do nothing of the sort, nevvy," spoke Tom Ashley gruffly. "If they spare the house now 'twill be only that they may burn it later. You can't depend upon the word of a Tory. We will stay here as long as we can, then make a dash for the woods. Thanks to Peggy we have plenty of cartridges now."

"Something is burning," cried Sally suddenly, sniffing the air.

A peculiar odor came through the loopholes of the windows, and the wind whirled a puff of smoke into the room. The faces of the girls blanched, and they looked at each other fearfully. The entire party seemed benumbed for the moment, then Fairfax sprang to the door of the lean-to.

"I'm going out to them," he announced determinedly. "You shan't burn here like rats in a trap."

"Don't go, son," screamed his mother.

And, "Don't go, Friend Fairfax," came from the girls. "'Tis death out there."

"And death to all within if I stay," he answered, opening the door resolutely. A burst of flame from the lean-to forced him to recoil, and before he could recover himself his uncle had closed the door quickly.

"You young idiot," he growled, "stay where you are. 'Twould be a useless sacrifice. You'll do more good by staying here, and helping to cover the retreat of the women should we have to take to the woods."

Fairfax made no answer, but stood in a dejected attitude, his head sunk upon his breast. The stillness without was ominous. Presently jets of flame crept across the threshold of the door leading to the lean-to. The farmer uttered an exclamation almost of despair as he reached for the water bucket.

"We are all right as long as the water holds out," he groaned, dashing the bucket's contents on the blaze. "God help us when 'tis gone."

"Uncle Tom," spoke the youth imploringly, "they only want me. Let me at least make a dash for the woods. There would be a chance of escape, and 'twould draw them away from here."

"Would they really take after Fairfax if they saw him taking to the woods?" queried Nurse Johnson abruptly.

"Of a truth, Hannah. You see they'd like to get him on account of capturing Edwards, but we won't give him up. He's too necessary to the country."

"Another place is on fire, friend," screamed Sally at this moment.

Both the youth and his uncle sprang for the blaze, beating the flames with heavy wet cloths. Under cover of the excitement Nurse Johnson threw her son's long cloak around her, caught up his three-cornered hat, and, before they realized what she was about, had opened the rear door of the kitchen and darted out.

A shout went up from the raiders, telling that she had been seen. A few scattering shots followed, then the clarion tones of the leader rang out:

"Don't shoot, boys. Take him alive. We've got him now."

"Mother!" cried Fairfax, springing toward the door. Tom Ashley caught him in an iron grip.

"Be quiet, nevvy," he said sternly. "Hannah's got too much wit to be taken, and she hath saved you; and all of us, for that matter. You are too valuable to the country to be given to such wretches. Even though all the rest of us perish, you must live. Now help me put out this fire. Peggy, do you run up-stairs, and see what's happening."

Up the stairs darted Peggy, with Mrs. Ashley and Sally following after. Too eager to be cautious she flung back a shutter, and looked out. The night was now far spent, and in the dim gray light of early dawn Nurse Johnson's tall figure was not unlike that of her son. The intrepid woman had cleared the open spaces of the yard, and was now under the great trees of the forest, with the raiders in full pursuit. A few moments, and hunted and hunters were swallowed up by the long dark shadows of the woods.



CHAPTER XIV

MARCHING ORDERS

"Our bugles sound gayly. To horse and away! And over the mountains breaks the day; Then ho! brothers, ho! for the ride or the fight, There are deeds to be done ere we slumber to-night! And whether we fight or whether we fall By saber-stroke or rifle ball, The hearts of the free will remember us yet, And our Country, our Country will never forget."

—Rossiter Worthington Raymond.

It was not until morning that the farmer and his nephew succeeded in getting control of the fire. When at length it was extinguished only a few charred timbers remained of the lean-to, and the dwelling itself was badly damaged. A heap of ashes marked the spot where the barn had stood, and the scene was one of desolation. The day had come, but there was no glory in the sunshine. The dank smell of early morning rose from the dew-drenched earth, but its freshness and fragrance were marred by the overpowering odor of smoke, and wet, charred wood. In the countless trees of the forest the birds were singing, but their songs fell upon unheeding ears. To the inmates of the farmhouse instead of melody the pines whispered a message of menace and despair.

"And now," spoke Fairfax Johnson, as Thomas Ashley declared that there was no further danger of fire, "now I am going to see what hath become of my mother."

"And I'll go with you, nevvy. You must not think me hard and unfeeling, boy, but just now, when men are so scarce, we cannot afford to lose one unnecessarily. To have gone out to those men would have been certain death for you, and your mother did the best thing that could have been done. To be a patriot demands a great deal of us. To die is a small matter, but how we die is much. Your work is not finished. Until it is, nevvy, your life is not yours to lose needlessly. It belongs to the country. Even though Hannah be captured, it would not follow that aught of harm would come to her. She is a woman. But come!"

"Peggy," whispered Sally, "Friend Ashley reminds me of Brutus."

"Yes," answered Peggy gazing after Fairfax with misty eyes. "Duty to country is first, of course; but sometimes when the heart is torn with anguish over the sacrifice of a loved one it doth seem that duty asks too much of us. Oh, Sally! Sally! will peace ever come? Will the country ever be aught but torn and disrupted by warfare? I cannot bear it."

"Don't, Peggy," came from Sally sharply.

Mrs. Ashley, who was moving about the fire preparing breakfast, came to them quickly. She gave each girl a gentle kiss, and a soft pat, saying:

"Now, now, 'twill not do. After being such brave, helpful girls all night, are ye going to give way now? 'Twill never do, sweetings. For the boy's sake, ye must be brave. See! I have nice, hot coffee all ready. Run after them, and tell them that I want them to take a cup before going far."

"And we were going to be so brave," reminded Sally wiping her eyes.

"'Tis all my fault," said Peggy, "but 'twas the thought of——"

"Now be quick, or they will be gone too far," interrupted Mistress Ashley.

The two men were entering the confines of the forest when Peggy called to them:

"Mistress Ashley wishes that ye would take a cup of coffee before going, friends. She hath it already prepared."

Fairfax shook his head.

"Mother first," he said. "I could not take anything."

The tears came again to Peggy's eyes.

"Yes, yes," she said chokingly. "Make sure of Friend Nurse's whereabouts first. How brave she was! How——"

"Did I hear something said anent coffee, Peggy?" came Nurse Johnson's voice, and from among the trees she came toward them. She was smiling, but her appearance was anything but cheerful. Her face was very pale, her hair was unbound and hung upon her shoulders in a tangled mass; her garments were dew drenched, and she limped painfully. With a bound her son reached her side.

"Mother! mother!" was all he could say.

"I thought ye'd get through, Hannah," cried Thomas Ashley. "I was just telling the boy so. Mary, Mary! Hannah's come."

With cries and exclamations of wonder and joy they gathered about her, heaping caresses upon her until the good woman begged for mercy, declaring that she was hungry, and would have no breath left wherewith to partake of food. Then they bore her into the house, and while Sally and Peggy dressed the sprained ankle, Mrs. Ashley brought coffee, and Mr. Ashley cut great slices of ham, insisting that the occasion warranted a feast. But the son remained by her side as though he feared to leave her. They grew calm finally, and then Nurse Johnson told of her escape.

"'Tis naught to make such a pother about," she said settling back comfortably in her chair, a cup of coffee in hand. "I knew that Tom wouldn't be able to hold Fairfax much longer, and I wasn't going to have those rascals get him if I could help it. Providence was on my side, for I seemed to have wings given me. I didn't know that I could run so fast, but fear, aided by a few bullets, would develop speed in the most of us, I reckon.

"I had a little start of the Tories, though I knew that I could not keep it, when my foot caught in a vine, or root, and I fell. I tried to get up, but my ankle was sprained so I could not rise. Instead, in my efforts, I began to roll down the declivity, for the ground was slightly rolling where I had fallen, and over and over I went until presently the bottom was reached, and I came to a stop in a little hollow. Something stirred as I rolled into the thicket, and an animal, 'twas too dark to see what it was, though it seemed like a doe, or a fawn, leaped up and bounded away through the forest. I heard the men go crashing after it, and it came to me that if I did not move they might pass on, thinking that the deer was their prey. That is all there is to it. So you see I did naught after all. Save for the mishap of a sprained ankle, and a little chill, I am no worse off than ye are."

"Oh! but the risk, Friend Nurse," cried Peggy.

"Was no greater than to stay here. We did not know of a certainty that the men would leave the house in pursuit. It was just a chance, but it happened to work all right. Now, Tom, what shall be done? Do you think the raiders will return?"

"'Tis hard telling, Hannah. Sooner or later they will try to get the boy again. If Edwards is hanged they will stop at nothing to effect his capture. But, Hannah, every man in the company runs the same risk. The thing to do is to have the men make headquarters here. 'Twill be of mutual benefit, for 'twill throw a safeguard about each member of the company."