“There are lint and bandages in the large bundle, Peggy. Dr. Cochran says they can scarce get enough of them. The hospitals as well as the departments of the army are in sore need of supplies. Ah me! the long, grim, weary years of fighting have made the people slow to respond to the necessities of our soldiers, and the Congress hath not the power to make levies. I would send sheets and pillow cases if there was room. We shall see when thy companion comes. The hamper is filled with jellies and delicacies. Thou wilt divide them with the other poor wounded ones. They will be glad of them, I make no doubt. And thy portmanteau is all packed, child. I think we have forgot nothing. There is but little time left to dress for the journey.”

Mrs. Owen cast an anxious glance at the array of bundles as she enumerated them, locked the portmanteau, and gave the key to her daughter.

“I know, mother, but it will not take me long. I will run down to the stables to say good-bye to Star now, and then dress. How I wish the dear thing could go too!”

“I fear thee will have to be content without her for this time, Peggy. It will not be for long.”

“True, mother,” assented the girl cheerfully. “And the very first thing I shall do when I come back will be to take a long, long gallop. I will be gone just a moment.”

She ran out of the room as she finished speaking, and without pausing for even a passing glance at the trees or the terrace, went swiftly through the orchard to the stables.

“Thou dear thing!” she exclaimed laying her head on the mare’s silky mane. “I do wish thee was going with me. Thee has been my companion through so many jaunts that I don’t feel quite right at leaving thee. Oh, I do wish thee was going!”

The little mare whinnied and rubbed her nose gently against her young mistress as though she too would like to go. Peggy stroked her softly.

“I do wish thee was going,” she said again. “Then no matter what happened I would always have a way to get back to mother. Why, Peggy Owen!” she exclaimed as the full import of the words she had just spoken came to her. “What whimsies have beset thy brain that thou shouldst say that? What could happen? Thee must not get the megrims, Peggy, before thee has started. There, Star! I must not linger with thee. Now I have kissed thee just on the spot that gave thee thy name. Thou wilt remember thou art to give me a good ride when I come back.”

Peggy gave a last lingering caress to her pet, and turned reluctantly to leave her. As she did so she found herself face to face with Sally Evans and Betty Williams.

“We thought we should find thee here,” cried Sally. “When the doctor told me that thee was to go down to see Harriet’s brother, I went for Betty at once. We came to see thee off.”

“Oh, Peggy, I think thee has the most luck,” grumbled Betty. “The South hath all the fighting, and thee is going right there.”

“Why, no, Betty,” corrected Peggy with a laugh. “The fighting is in the Carolinas, and I go only to Virginia. There is no warfare there. I should not go if there were.”

“Well, I should, and I had the chance. I suppose Virginia is not Carolina,” went on Betty, who was hazy about her geography, “but ’tis much nearer than Philadelphia. I do think, Peggy Owen, that thee has the most delightsome adventures in the world,” she ended with a sigh.

“I am afraid that it will not be very pleasant to go to a cousin who is dying,” returned Peggy soberly. “Come, girls! ’tis time for me to dress. Let us go to my room. I am to go with a nurse and her escort. She hath been up here on a visit, and ’tis fortunate that she returns just at this time.”

“I knew thee would go just as soon as I knew that Harriet was not here,” said Sally, winding her arm about her waist. “There was naught else to do.”

“That was what mother and I thought, Sally. Would that I had thy skill and experience in nursing. Then perchance I could bring my cousin back to health.”

“Well, thee shouldn’t want to, Peggy,” cried Betty. “Look how the British treat our poor fellows when they are wounded. Yet we treat our prisoners as though they were friends, and not enemies. I get out of patience with Sally here when I see her so good to them when any are brought into the hospital wounded. And why does thee do it, Sally?”

“To make them ashamed of themselves,” answered Sally promptly. “They look upon us as provincials and almost barbarians. When they find us actuated by feelings of humanity it begins in time to dawn upon them that they are dealing with kinsmen and brothers. Sometimes they are brought to such a keen realization of this that they refuse longer to fight us, and so leave the army. I have reasoned with some of them,” she ended demurely.

“I’ll warrant thee has,” laughed Peggy.

Thus chatting the girls walked slowly to the house, and then up to Peggy’s own little room where they began to help the latter to dress for the journey. She was ready presently, and then Sally cleared her throat in an oratorical manner.

“Mistress Peggy Owen,” she began, untying with a flourish a small package which had escaped Peggy’s notice, “on behalf of The Social Select Circle, of which thee is an honored member, I present thee with this diary with the injunction that thou art to record within its pages everything that befalls thee from the time of thy leaving until the day of thy homecoming.”

“All and everything,” supplemented Betty eagerly.

“Why, girls, ’tis beautiful,” cried Peggy pleased and surprised by the gift. “It is sweet to be so remembered, and if The Circle wishes me to set down all the happenings of my journey, I will do so with pleasure. But there will be no adventures. ’Tis not to be expected on such a jaunt.”

“Every jaunt holds possibilities,” observed Sally sententiously. “When thee was away before, look at all that befell; yet we have not heard the half of what happened because thee forgot. Now if thou wilt write every day in this little book for the benefit of thy friends The Circle can enjoy thy journey as well as thou.”

“I’ll do it,” promised Peggy. “But you must not expect much. I shall be gone such a short time that you girls will scarcely have begun to miss me ere I shall be home again. ’Twill be a sad journey, I fear.”

“But thy cousin may get well,” interposed Betty. “Just think of the romance contained in an unknown cousin. The relationship is just near enough to be interesting,” she ended with such a languishing air that both Peggy and Sally shook her.

“Such an utterance from a member of The Social Select Circle,” rebuked Peggy. “I’m surprised at thee, Betty.”

“Oh, the edict against the other sex is revoked now,” declared Betty. “And didn’t we always have better times when Robert was with us than when we were alone?”

“We wouldn’t now, though,” answered Sally. “He doesn’t speak French, Betty.”

“Sally, thee is dreadful! Don’t listen to her, Peggy. She is always trying to tease.”

“I shall not, Betty,” consoled Peggy, casting a mischievous glance at Sally. “Never mind. Thee is patriotic, anyway.”

“How?” asked Sally as Betty, foreseeing some further jest, would not speak.

“By helping to cement the French Alliance, of course,” laughed Peggy.

“Thee is worse than Sally,” pouted Betty turning to look out of the window. “Peggy, is thee to go in a one-horse cabriolet? Because there is one coming up Chestnut Street now. Let me see! A woman is within and it is driven by a young man. Heigh-ho! ’Tis a promising outlook. There is a baggage wagon following with two men on the seat. Thee will be well escorted, Miss Peggy Owen.”

“It must be the nurse,” exclaimed Peggy. “And mother is calling, too. Come, girls.”

They ran lightly down-stairs, and soon Mrs. Johnson, the nurse, was shown in. She was a large, motherly-looking woman of middle age, with a pleasant smile and kind eyes. Peggy felt drawn to her at once.

“And so this is to be my young companion,” she said, drawing the girl toward her as Mrs. Owen presented her daughter. “I predict that we shall be great friends, my dear. Of a truth ’twas most pleasing news when the doctor told me that I should have your company. The journey is long, ’twill take all of ten days to reach Williamsburg, so that unless there is conversation to enliven the way, ’tis apt to be most tedious. Now, Fairfax, my son, is an excellent escort but an indifferent talker. He looks well to the needs of the horses, and we shall not suffer for lack of attention, save and except conversation from him. That we shall have to furnish ourselves.”

“The cabriolet is somewhat light to carry three persons,” observed Mrs. Owen reflectively as she returned from carrying out some bundles to the baggage wagon.

“We considered that, madam, but Fairfax will ride part of the time in the baggage wagon when the roads become so rough that the load seems heavy for the horse. ’Tis too bad that he has not his horse with him, but we knew not when we came that we were to have the pleasure of Miss Peggy’s company on our return. We shall manage nicely, I dare say. The two men in the baggage wagon are an addition also that we did not expect. They have charge of some supplies for the hospital which Dr. Cochran is sending with us. I was glad to have them. ’Tis more agreeable in a long journey to have a party.”

“Mother!” breathed Peggy, her eyes glowing with the idea. “Could not the young man ride Star?”

“I was just thinking of that, my child,” said Mrs. Owen with an indulgent smile. “’Tis in truth a way opened for thee to take thy pony.”

“Do you indeed mean that Fairfax may ride a horse of yours, my dear?” questioned Nurse Johnson, rising. “Why, that is most welcome news. You are generous.”

“Nay,” protested Peggy. “I thought mostly of myself, I fear; I wish very much to have my little mare with me, and I do not deserve thy praise, friend nurse——” She paused in some confusion. “I should say Mrs. Johnson.”

“Nay; let it be friend nurse,” replied the good woman laughing. “I think I like it. And I shall call you Peggy. And your own saddle can be put in the baggage wagon, and you can take a little gallop occasionally to relieve the monotony of riding.”

“Thee relieves me of all fear that Peggy will not be well taken care of,” declared Mrs. Owen as the two left the room. “And sheets, friend? Has thee plenty of them? If there is room I could give thee a number.”

The nurse’s eyes filled with tears.

“We have need of everything, madam,” she said. “’Twill gladden our hearts to receive anything in the nature of supplies.”

They were ready at last, and Peggy approached her girl friends for a last good-bye.

“Thee has a silent knight for thy escort, Peggy,” whispered Betty through her tears, with a glance in the direction of Nurse Johnson’s son, who had not spoken to them. “Be sure to write in the diary if he speaks to thee at all through the journey. And mind! thee must put down the very words he says.”

“Betty, Betty, thee is grown frivolous,” expostulated Peggy. “Sally, thee must deal with her severely.”

“She shall help me to care for the next doughty Englishman that comes to the hospital,” declared Sally. “Still, Peggy, if the young man should break his silence ’twould be naught amiss to record the happening, for the delectation of The Circle.”

“Thee is as bad as Betty, Sally. I shall keep the diary right with me, girls, and put down whatever of interest occurs.”

“And thou wilt send word of thy safe arrival as soon as thou canst, my child,” said Mrs. Owen, holding her close. “If such a thing should be that thy cousin recovers we will see what can be done anent his coming here. And now farewell!”

Peggy clung to her without replying, and then quietly took her place in the cabriolet beside the nurse. She smiled bravely at them, and as the cabriolet started she leaned out and waved farewell as long as she could see her mother.