It was late that night when Drayton returned.

“No,” he said in answer to Harriet’s eager questioning. “I found him not. I went to both the old and the new jails, but he was in neither. In fact, no prisoners have been received for some days. I then made the rounds of the taverns, but no such party was stopping at any of them. There was but one trace to be found: some of the loungers about the inns said that a party of horse was seen in the late afternoon riding toward the lower ferry. I will inquire in that direction to-morrow. ’Tis not customary to travel at night with prisoners, unless the need is urgent. I wonder that a stop for the night was not made in the city.”

The dragoons had passed through the city, as the lieutenant found the next day; and, crossing the Schuylkill at Gray’s Ferry had gone on to the Blue Bell Tavern, putting up there for the night. They were up and away early the next morning.

“Then how shall I find him?” queried Harriet as Drayton imparted this information to her. “Lieutenant, you are an officer in the army; tell me how to find my brother. I ought not to ask this of you, I know. I haven’t always been kind or pleasant, but if you will only help me in this, I’ll—I’ll——Peggy, help me to plead with him.”

“There is no need to plead, mistress,” responded he quickly. “If I can be of service to you, it will be a pleasure. I will do what I can to find him. If he is an officer the task will be much easier. If I hear aught concerning him I will send you word at once. ’Twas said at the Blue Bell that the party was for the South, and if so, it may be that I shall overtake it. I leave to-morrow if the despatches of Congress are ready.”

“So soon?” exclaimed Peggy in dismay. “Why, thee came but yesterday, John.”

“A soldier’s time is never his own, Peggy. It hath been delightful to have even these few days. After the hard marching of the past weeks ’tis like an oasis in the desert to tarry in a real home. From all I hear we are likely to be on the move for some time to come. ’Twas openly talked in camp, before I left, that ’twas our general’s plan to draw my Lord Cornwallis as far from his base of supplies as possible. If that be true we shall do naught but march for some time to come. This is a good rest for me.”

“If thy stay is so short then we must see that ’tis made as pleasant as possible,” declared Mrs. Owen. And from that moment the three, for Harriet threw off her depression and was once more the charming girl that she had been at Middlebrook, devoted themselves so successfully to his entertainment that Drayton declared that it was well that he had a horse to carry him away; for he would never leave of his own volition.

“It hath been delightful,” he reiterated as he was about to depart. “I doubt that ’tis good for me to have so much pampering. ’Twill give me a desire to play the messenger at all times, and make me long for comforts that are not to be found in camp, or on the march. You shall hear from me soon, Mistress Harriet. Even though I should not overtake your brother and the dragoons still you shall have word of it.”

With that he was gone. Life with its duties resumed its accustomed routine at the Owens’ dwelling with the exception that Harriet seemed much improved. The interest in her brother was the thing needful to arouse her, and she daily gained in strength. The two horses, Star and Fleetwood, were brought from the stables, and the girls with Tom as groom again rode whenever the weather was pleasant. And so a week passed. February was folded away in the book of years, and March was upon them; but if Drayton had overtaken the horsemen on his way South they had received no word.

“How warm the sun is,” exclaimed Harriet as she and Peggy were returning from a long ride on the first of the month. “Were it not that I might receive word from Lieutenant Drayton about Clifford, I would suggest that we turn about and go on to Chestnut Hill. It would be pleasant to be out all afternoon.”

“Nay,” demurred Peggy. “The distance to Chestnut Hill makes it not to be thought of. Besides, dinner is at two, and mother wished us to be home in time for that. Though it is pleasant.”

It was pleasant. The storm month had begun his sway with the mildness of the proverbial lamb. The air held just enough of keenness to be bracing, and the sky was blue with the blueness of May. There was the promise of spring in the woods. The almost dead silences of winter had disappeared. The song of the occasional robin was heard; the flutter of wings, and the almost silent noises of the trees and thickets, evidenced in the swelling buds of the bare branches.

The Germantown road was a favorite ride with them, and this day they stopped often to exclaim over the spaciousness of the landscape which the leafless trees admitted to their view.

“Do you think that I will hear to-day, Peggy?” asked her cousin wistfully after one of these stops.

“I know not, Harriet. John will let thee know as soon as he can, for he promised. I would not think so much anent it, if I were thee. What is the saying? ‘A watched pot never boils.’ Is not that it?”

“I can’t help it, Peggy. If Clifford were not a prisoner I would not care so much. Just as soon as I find where he is I must try to secure his release. I know that Sir Henry Clinton would get him exchanged if I should ask it. I will write to him.”

Instantly Peggy was troubled. She feared Harriet’s activities. The council of the state was alert and watchful, and would tolerate no communications of any sort with the enemy. In fact, several women, wives and relatives of Tories in New York and other points within the British lines, had recently been arrested for this very fault. So it was a very grave face the maiden turned to her cousin.

“Harriet,” she said, “does thee remember the trouble that we got into at Middlebrook by trying to pass letters to Sir Henry? Thee must not try to pass any letters here.”

“But this is different, Peggy,” protested the other girl eagerly. “I’m not going to do any spy work. I learned a lesson at that time that I shall never forget. You have my word, Peggy. I shall not break it. The only thing I should write would be but a line to ask for Clifford’s exchange. There could be no harm in that.”

“If thee sends a letter of any sort, Harriet, thee must first take it to Mr. Joseph Reed, the president of the council. If he sees no objection to it then he will send it through for thee. If thee does not care to go to him, mother would attend to it for thee. ’Twould be best to leave the matter with her in any case. She would do everything that could be done.”

“But the army is not here,” expostulated Harriet, who evidently had the matter strongly in mind. “I see no reason why I should submit my letter to Mr. Reed. There could be naught to report of war matters from Philadelphia. ’Tis not as it was at Middlebrook.”

“Is it not?” queried Peggy. “Why, Harriet, the enemy want all knowledge that can be had of the movements of Congress. Philadelphia is the center of the government. Whatever transpires here is of great interest to Sir Henry. Therefore, the rules regarding letters are rigid. Thee must not attempt it, Harriet.”

“Well, well, have it your own way,” returned Harriet lightly. “I think you make too much of such a small thing, Peggy, but the affair can be arranged when Clifford’s whereabouts become known. So we will say no more about it.”

There was nothing that could be said, so Peggy held her peace; but she thought deeply. She would tell her mother, she resolved, and they would see that no communication was had with the British that was not through the regular channels. But what a responsibility these English cousins were, she mused, and so musing sighed heavily.

“Wherefore the sigh, cousin mine?” quizzed Harriet, bending low over her saddle to look into Peggy’s eyes. “Is it because you are afraid of what I shall do? Fie, for shame! ’Tis you who are beset by fancies now. Fear nothing, Peggy. I shall bring no further trouble upon you. Is that what you were worrying about?”

“Yes,” confessed Peggy frankly. “It was, Harriet.”

“Then think of it no more. Have I not said that no trouble shall come to you? And there shall not. But a truce to seriousness. ’Tis much too fine for worry. Is not that a robin redbreast, Peggy?”

“Yes, Harriet. I have noticed several since we began our ride. ’Twill soon be spring. And it should be; for it is the first of Third month.”

And so the topic of the letter was put aside for the time, and the maidens rode on through the trees chatting pleasantly. Suddenly the dull boom of a cannon smote their ears.

“A battle! A battle!” cried Harriet excitedly as they drew rein to listen. “Oh, what if our people have attacked the city?”

“Nay,” spoke Peggy. “’Tis more like that there is something to celebrate. Listen! Does thee not hear bells?”

“I wonder what it can be?” exclaimed Harriet. “I hope that ’tis not another victory for the rebels.”

“Let us hasten, Harriet. We can find out in no other way.” Peggy called to Tom, and they set forward at speed.

The noise became a din as they entered the city. Cannon boomed from the shipping on the Delaware, and artillery thundered on the land. All the bells in the city were ringing. Hoarse shouts filled the air, and upon every side there were manifestations of joy.

“Oh, what can it be?” exclaimed Peggy with some excitement. “I wish we knew.”

A short, thick-set little man, of dark, swarthy complexion was just crossing Front Street toward one of the quays as she spoke. He turned as he heard the exclamation, and came toward them.

“If you do not know, lassie, let me tell you,” he said with a deep obeisance. “’Tis a great day. A great day, and will go down in history as such. Know then that this morning the last state ratified the Articles of Confederation, and by that act the Union becomes perpetual.”

“Have they done it at last?” cried she. “Why, it hath been debated and discussed so long that we feared ’twould never happen. I did not know ’twas to occur to-day.”

“Nor did any of us,” returned he genially. “I fancy that it took even the Congress by surprise. ’Twas announced at noon, by a discharge of artillery, the signal agreed upon. I am going now to add my quota to the rejoicing by firing a feu de joie from my ship yonder.”

He indicated a frigate beautifully decorated with a variety of streamers anchored just off the quay.

“The ‘Ariel,’” read Harriet, at which Peggy opened her eyes wide.

“If that is thy ship then thee must be that John Paul Jones who fought that wonderful battle with the ‘Serapis’ two years ago,” ejaculated she. For the “Ariel” was the vessel which was given that gallant officer in place of the “Bon Homme Richard” which had been so battered in that memorable engagement that it had sunk two days after the fight.

“The very same,” he answered with a profound courtesy. “The very same, at your service, ladies.”

“And thou hast stopped to give us information just as though thee was an ordinary man,” she said in so awed a tone that he burst out laughing.

“Well, and why not? Could I not give it as correctly as another? I am honored to be of service.”

He swept them another courtesy, and a little confused by the meeting the two girls thanked him, and rode on.

On every hand the citizens demonstrated the importance of the happy occasion. At two o’clock in the afternoon, the President of Congress received congratulations. At night the evening was ushered in by an elegant display of fireworks while the gentlemen of Congress, the civil and military officers, and many of the principal citizens partook of a collation spread for them at the City Tavern.

The first great step toward making the union permanent was taken. There were many pitfalls awaiting the young nation ere one republic could be moulded out of thirteen sovereign states. There were concessions to be made, mistakes corrected, in later years a baptism of blood, before E Pluribus Unum could be properly the motto of the new United States. But the first step toward becoming a nation among the nations was taken when the states entered into a firm league of friendship on this day for their common defense, the security of their liberties and their mutual general welfare. A people struggling for liberty always become the favorites of heaven, and how far-reaching the links forged between the states was to become was known alone to the Ruler of all.