“Mother, did thee know about the celebration?” asked Peggy, as the two girls entered the sitting-room where Mrs. Owen sat sewing.

“Yes. Friend Deering was here but now, and told me the cause of it. A post-rider hath come from the South, Harriet; there is a letter.”

“From Lieutenant Drayton?” cried Harriet, taking the missive eagerly. “Oh, I wonder if he hath found Clifford?”

“That were best known by reading it,” suggested Peggy, as her cousin stood holding the letter without breaking the seal. “Open it quickly, Harriet. I am beset with curiosity.”

Without more ado Harriet tore open the epistle. As she did so a sealed enclosure fell to the floor, but she was too intent upon what Drayton had written to notice it for the moment. The latter ran:

“Esteemed and Honored Madam: It is with great pleasure that I take up my pen to inform you that at length I have located your brother; and a lively time it gave me, too. I left Philadelphia, as you doubtless remember, on Friday, but it was not until Sunday night that I overtook the party of American horse who had your brother in charge.

“I had inquired concerning them at every inn on the highway, but they had either passed without stopping or had just left; so that I almost despaired of ever coming up with them. By great good fortune, however, I found them at The Head of the Elk^[3] where I purposed to stay Sunday night. Supper was over, and prisoners and captors sat about the fire in the common room of The Three Lions Tavern when I entered. There were five prisoners in all, and I looked at each one carefully, hoping to recognize your brother by your description of him.

“One, the youngest of the lot, had something strangely familiar about him, and all at once it came to me that he looked like Peggy.”

“It could not have been Clifford, then,” Harriet paused to remark, looking at her cousin wonderingly. “I see no resemblance to you, Peggy.”

“But thee said that he looked like father,” reminded Peggy. “I am like father too, save my eyes and hair, which are dark, like mother’s. If thy brother looks like father ’twould be natural that John should think him like me. Read on, Harriet. Perchance ’twas not he, after all.”

“I was sure then,” continued Harriet, reading, “that this was your brother; so, after obtaining permission from the officer in charge, I approached him and said:

“‘I cry you pardon, sir, but are you Clifford Owen, brother of Mistress Harriet Owen?’

“He looked at me queerly, it seemed to me, before he replied:

“‘I am not he; but if it were my name I see not what concern it is of yours.’

“‘I bear a message to one Clifford Owen,’ I told him. ‘If you are not he of course ’twould be of no moment to you.’

“‘No,’ he said, and seemed disinclined to talk. Seeing him so I left off for a time, but after some chat with the others, I turned to him again.

“‘If you are agreeable, sir, I would fain know your name?’

“‘You are persistent,’ he cried with some heat. ‘I am not the man you seek; then why should you wish my name?’

“‘And why should you not tell it?’ I returned. ‘Unless, perchance, there are reasons for its suppression. We of these states ofttimes have to do with persons who care not for us to know their names.’

“‘It is Wilson Williams, sir,’ he answered, springing to his feet. ‘Now will you cease your questions? I know not why you should pester me with them. Is’t the fashion of Americans to annoy prisoners in such manner?’

“‘Since you are not the man, I will trouble you no further, sir,’ I answered with spirit. Turning my back upon him I began chatting with the others, who seemed not averse to conversation.

“I had a shrewd suspicion that he was Clifford, passing for some reason under another name, so I led the talk to the war and its progress, gradually giving utterance to speeches that grew more and more inflammatory, hoping to make him declare himself under the heat of controversy. I saw that he writhed under the conversation, so at length I observed:

“‘Even you British are coming to our way of thinking. The great Pitt, Charles Fox, and others among you know that ’tis the same spirit that animates us that stirred our common ancestors to resist the oppression of Charles First. None of you can be among us long without acknowledging this. Why, in Philadelphia, there is at this moment an English maiden who was bitter against us when she came among us, but who hath gradually been brought to our manner of belief. As a token of this she hath conferred upon me, an officer of the patriot army, a great mark for her favor.’ This I said, Mistress Harriet, to stir him. You must give me your pardon in the matter, for I thought but to serve you. And when I had said this I went to my saddle-bags which had been placed in a corner of the room, and drew forth the shirt that you had given me.

“‘This hath she made for me,’ I said holding it up to view. ‘And this,’ pointing to the inscription, Harriet Owen a loyal subject of the king, ‘hath caused us much amusement.’ I could not but smile as I held it up, for it came to me that you had said that if it were seen by the English you would know that I had turned my back to the foe. And here it was back to the enemy even before seeing service. The words had no sooner left my lips than here was my young man on his feet. Snatching the garment from my hands he tore it into pieces before I could prevent.

“‘There, sir!’ he cried, tossing the shreds into the fire. ‘No Yankee shall wear a shirt of my sister’s making. If you want satisfaction you shall have it.’

“He clapped his hand to his side for his rapier, but, being a prisoner, of course found it not. ‘A sword!’ he cried furiously. ‘A sword! A sword!’

“‘Sir,’ I said, saluting him, ‘I fight with no prisoner. And now that you have acknowledged that Mistress Harriet Owen is your sister, perchance you will permit me to give you her message. She wished you to inform her of your destination that she might exert herself to secure your release. Write her at Philadelphia, in care of Madam David Owen, who is a cousin of yours, as, I dare say, you know. I make no doubt but that your sister will be able to get you a parole.’

“‘With your aid?’ he fumed. ‘I will rot in prison before I accept aid from a Yankee captain.’

“‘A lieutenant, sir,’ I corrected. ‘By some oversight I have not yet the honor to be a captain. Perchance the matter will be adjusted after our next victory. I will bid you a very good-night, sir.’

“‘Now by my life!’ he cried, flinging himself upon me. ‘You shall not leave this room until I have some satisfaction.’ With that he began belaboring me with his fists. Of course ’twas not in human nature to withstand such an onslaught without a return in kind, so presently here we were on the floor, rolling over and over, and pummeling each other like two schoolboys.

“At length the officer of the troopers and some of the others pulled me off, for I was at the moment on top, having obtained the mastery.

“‘Have done, lieutenant,’ cried the officer. ’Do you want to kill him? I can’t have my prisoner beat up.’

“I got up, rather reluctantly, I must confess, for the young gentleman had been trying and had brought it upon himself, and turned to the others to make excuses. But they all, even his fellow prisoners, were laughing. They had perceived the trick I had used to make him declare himself, and were well pleased with the bout, as no bones were broken, or blood shed. Have no fear either, mistress; save a few bruises and perchance a black eye your brother is no worse hurt than he should be.

“Your brother was sullen, and took the chaff with anything but a good grace; so, after a little, I bade them all good-night and went to my room to write you a report of the matter, which I fear will not be at all to your liking. A little later I heard him calling for inkhorn and powder,^[4] so that if he writes in heat to you, this will inform you of the reason.

“Monday morning.—I did not finish the letter last night, but hasten to do so this morning before starting on my journey South. Early the captain of the dragoons came to me laughing:

“‘Here’s a kettle of fish, Drayton,’ he said. ’The Englishman vows he’ll have your blood. Oh, he’s in a pretty temper. He is pleading for a sword, and hath promised us everything but his life for one. He hath writ to his sister too, and I am to send it. How to do it I know not. If you are in favor with her perchance you can attend to it.’

“‘I can,’ I replied. ‘I have one of my own to send. I am leaving immediately, captain, and after I am gone tell our friend that his sister hath no more liking for me than he seems to have, and but used me for messenger, lacking a better.

“‘I shall tell him naught, I dare not,’ he said. ‘Only go not near him before you leave, lieutenant. I know not what will happen if you do.’

“‘And I know that whatever happens I must have a whole skin for the delivery of my despatches,’ I answered laughing.

“Enclosed please find the letter your brother hath writ, and permit me to thank you for the enjoyableness of this little frisk. If I have gained an enemy, you at least have found a brother; so honors are even. Whenever you have another service to perform you have only to call upon him who subscribes himself

“Your humble and devoted servant,

“John Drayton.

“ToMistressHarrietOwen,
“Philadelphia,Pa.”

“The wretch!” cried Harriet, throwing the letter to the floor in a pet. “How dare he act so? Oh, I wish that Clifford had run him through. ’Twere well for John Drayton that he had no sword. How dare he flout him in that manner?”

“Softly, softly, my child,” spoke Mrs. Owen mildly, with difficulty suppressing her smiles, while Peggy laughed outright. “Methinks both the lads were at fault, but John wished only to satisfy himself of the other’s identity. And he did serve thee in that, Harriet. But why should Clifford wish to conceal it?”

“I know not,” answered Harriet soberly. “I suppose ’twas because he feared father would make him withdraw from the service should he find him.”

“Mayhap he explains the matter in his letter,” suggested Peggy picking up the neglected enclosure, and handing it to Harriet.

“Oh, yes; the letter,” cried Harriet tearing it open eagerly. “Why!” she exclaimed casting her eye quickly down the page. “He’s angry! Just listen.

“‘And is it true,’” began the missive without heading or beginning of any sort, “‘that Harriet Owen, my sister Harriet, hath so far forgot her duty to her king as to labor in behalf of his rebellious subjects? And such an one as you have chosen to favor, Harriet! Could not the daughter of Colonel William Owen, of the Welsh Fusiliers, find a better object than this whippersnapper of a Yankee captain?

“‘Harriet! Harriet! And has it come to this? Are you a traitor to your country and your king? To make a shirt for a rebel were infamy enough, but to embroider your name across its shoulders that all might see that Harriet Owen, a loyal subject of the king, was so employed surpasses belief.

“‘Harriet, if this be true, if you have forgot what is due yourself, your brother, your father, your country and the most illustrious prince that ever sat upon the throne—if you have forgot your duty to all these, I say, then never more shall I call you sister. Never will I write the name of Clifford Owen again, but go down to my grave under the one I have chosen.

“‘But, my sister, I cannot believe it of you. I cannot believe that so short a time could change you so. Some one other than you must have made that shirt, and this popinjay of a captain—or is it a lieutenant? no matter!—hath stolen it to flaunt before me, and to stir me to anger.

“‘Would that when I saw you in Philadelphia I had stopped, in spite of my captors. It was not permitted, and at the time, I was content that it should be so, for I feared that father might be with you. I dread his displeasure when he meets me; for, as you know, he hath, in truth, great cause to be offended with me. Should the matter have truth in it that you have become imbued with the virus of this rebellion, it may be that a short account of how I have been fighting for the glory of old Britain will bring you back to a realizing sense of your duty.

“‘Know then that when I left you home,—and why did you ever leave there? This country is no place for a girl bred as you have been.—After I had left there, I say, I obtained a commission by the help of Lord Rawdon. I think he knew who I was; we met him once, if you remember, but he said naught about the matter. He saw at once that I wished my identity kept sub rosa, and the army was greatly in need of men. Of course it cost a pretty penny, and I expect a scene with father about it. Pray that I may distinguish myself ere we meet.

“‘I came with Lord Rawdon to the colonies, and have been with him ever since, mostly in the province of Georgia. We conquered that colony and garrisoned Savannah, where you and father would, no doubt, have found me had not that storm driven Sir Henry Clinton elsewhere to land. I was sent to Charlestown after you left for Camden and was stationed there for some months. Then his lordship sent me to New York by sea with letters for General Clinton. I was tired of the Southern climate, and another gladly exchanged with me, and went South while I remained in New York.

“‘There was lately some information to be procured about the rebel forces, and volunteering for the service I was captured by some of the enemy’s scouts. There were a number of British prisoners in the rebel camp, and, as they seem not to be any too well supplied with rations, we prisoners are sent somewhere to the interior to be fed and kept out of the way of mischief. I think our destination is Charlottesville, where the Convention prisoners^[5] are. ’Tis said that there is a regular colony of them at that place, which is, I believe, in the province of Virginia. There is to be a short stop at Fredericksburg before going on to the encampment of prisoners, for what reason I know not. If you will write immediately to that place I think I will receive it.

“‘But, Harriet, dearly as I would love to hear from you, if you have grown to sympathize with these revolted colonies in this broil against the king, if you are false to your country, as that fellow would have me believe, then write me not.

“‘How can one sympathize with such obstinate people as these rebels are? When one is in their company they are barely civil, and that is, as Jack Falstaff says, by compulsion. They seem to grow stronger by every defeat. And why do they? They seem like AntÆus, of whom ’twas fabled that being a son of the goddess Tellus, or the earth, every fall he received from Hercules gave him more strength so that the hero was forced to strangle him in his arms at last. Would that our minister could send us a Hercules to conquer these rebels.

“‘If you can secure my release, Harriet, do so. I am quite sure that Sir Henry Clinton, if the matter is brought to his attention, would exert himself regarding an exchange. As you are doubtless aware, an affair of this kind must be kept prominently before the notice of the great ones, else it will be shelved for some other thing that is pressed with more persistence. And yet, if nothing can be accomplished save by the connivance of that captain, lieutenant, or whatever he may be, I would rather a thousand times stay as I am. Write me, if you are still my loyal sister.

“’Wilson Williams

(Clifford Owen).’

“If ever,” spoke Harriet with tears of vexation filling her lovely eyes, “if ever I see that John Drayton again I will give him occasion to remember it. Clifford never wrote such a dreadful letter to me before. Peggy Owen, ’tis no laughing matter.”

“No,” agreed Peggy merrily. “No, ’tis not, Harriet. And yet I cannot help but laugh. I cry thy pardon, my cousin, but, but——” Unable to finish she gave vent to another peal of laughter.