As the little caravan turned from Chestnut Street into Seventh so that she could no longer see her home Peggy’s lips quivered, and it was with difficulty that she refrained from bursting into tears.

“Give not way to idle grief at our parting,” her mother had admonished her. “Thee will have need of all thy fortitude to attend thy cousin, and ’twere sinful to waste thy strength in weeping.”

With this counsel in mind the girl struggled bravely against her emotion, and presently, wiping her eyes, turned toward the nurse. For youth is ever buoyant, and it is not natural for it to give way long to sadness. They had passed the Bettering House by this time and were well on their way toward the lower ferry.

“Thee will think me but a dull companion, I fear, friend nurse,” she said. “But I grieve to leave my mother even for so short a time. In truth, I have but recently returned home after a long absence.”

“Partings are always sad, my child, even when they are but for a few days,” replied Nurse Johnson sympathetically. “I felt just so when I bade my sister farewell this morning. We had not seen each other for ten years until I came for this visit, and ’tis like to be as long again before we get another glimpse of each other if this fearful war continues. In times such as these separation from loved ones is fraught with more than the usual sorrow; for one never knows what will happen. But you have borne up bravely, child. I feared a scene. Most girls would have treated me to such. You have the making of a good nurse, Peggy, with such control.”

“’Tis another time that I merit not thy praise,” explained the maiden. “’Tis all due to mother. She cautioned me about giving way to my feelings, thinking that I would need my strength for the journey.”

“Your mother is right,” said Nurse Johnson soberly. “The way is long and we shall have much ado to beguile the tediousness of it. As a beginning, can you tell me if those earthworks yonder are the remains of British entrenchments?”

“Yes,” answered the girl. “Traces of their lines are still discoverable in many places about the city. If thee rode out the Bristol road at all thee must have seen a large redoubt which commands the Delaware. Its parapet is considered of great elegance, though there are those that contend that the parapet was constructed with more regard to ornament than for fortification. Just this side of the battery are the barracks they built.”

“And were you in the city when they held possession?”

“No. Mother and I were at Strawberry Hill, our farm on the Wissahickon. Thee should have seen our city before the enemy held it, friend nurse. There were great trees all along the banks of the Schuylkill here which were called the Governor’s Woods. The English cut them down for fire-wood, and to help build their fortifications. And so many of our beautiful country places were burned.”

“’Tis so all over the land, my child,” returned the nurse sadly. “War leaves a train of wrecked and desolated homes wherever it is waged. We of Virginia have been fortunate so far to escape a wholesale ravage of the state. True, there have been some predatory incursions, but the state as a whole has not been overrun by the enemy. If General Greene can continue to hold Lord Cornwallis’ attention in the Carolinas we may not suffer as those states have.”

Thus she spoke, for no one imagined at this time that Virginia would soon become the center of activities. And so chatting they crossed the river, and by noon were in Chester, where they baited their horses and refreshed themselves for the afternoon journey.

It was spring. The smooth road wound beneath the budding foliage of the forest. The air was fresh and balmy, and laden with the perfume of flowers and leaves. The sky was blue, and Peggy followed with delight the flight of a hawk across its azure. Robins flew about merrily, with red breasts shaken by melodious chirpings, and brilliant plumage burnished by the sunlight. The maiden began to feel a keen enjoyment of the drive, and chatted and laughed with an abandon foreign to her usual quiet demeanor.

They lay at Wilmington, Delaware, that night, and early the next morning were up and away again. Mindful of her new diary Peggy recorded her impressions of the country through which she passed for the benefit of her friends of The Social Select Circle.

“The country is beautiful,” she wrote enthusiastically on the fourth day of her journey after passing from Wilmington through Newcastle, and Head of the Elk, and crossing the Susquehanna River. “Though it seems to me more sandy than Pennsylvania. I think this must arise from being so near the coast. The Susquehanna is very broad at this crossing, but it cannot compare with the Delaware for limpidness and whiteness. Nor are its banks so agreeable in appearance. To-morrow we enter Baltimore, which I long to see, for Nurse Johnson says ’tis a monstrously fine city.

“‘And is thee going to tell us naught but about the country, Peggy?’ I hear thee complain, Betty Williams. Know then, thou foolish Betty, that the ‘Silent Knight,’ as thee dubbed him, hath not yet broken that silence. Each morning he bows very gravely and deeply. Oh, a most ornate obeisance! Thee should see it. This I return in my best manner, and the ceremony for the day is over. If he hath aught to communicate he seeks his mother at the inns where we stop for refreshments. Truly he is a lad beset by shyness.

“‘And where is thy tongue, Peggy?’ I hear thee ask.

“Well, it may be that I shall use it if he does not speak soon. Such shyness doth engender boldness in us females. Will that please thee, thou saucy Betty?”

“Although,” soliloquized Peggy when she had made this entry, “it may not be shyness at all, but wisdom. I have heard mother say that wise men are not great talkers, so when the young man does speak I make no doubt but that his words will be full of matter. I must remember them verbatim, and set them down for the edification of The Circle.”

They reached Baltimore that night instead of the next day; at so late an hour there was no time to see the little city. It was one of the most important places in the new states at this time, ranking after Philadelphia and Boston in size, and growing rapidly, having been made a port of entry the year before. There was a quarter composed entirely of Acadian families speaking nothing but French, Nurse Johnson told her, and Peggy made a particular note of the fact for Betty’s delectation.

“Perchance when I return I can see more of it,” said the maiden philosophically as they were getting ready for their departure early the next morning.

“I hope that you can, my dear,” said Nurse Johnson. “’Twill be a hard ride to-day, for we want to make Colchester by nightfall. I have a cousin there with whom we can stop, which will be vastly more pleasurable than to stay at an ordinary. If we do not make the place to-night there would be no time for visiting to-morrow.”

The roads were good and hard, and the riding pleasant in the early morning. But as the day advanced the atmosphere became sultry, and Peggy was conscious of more fatigue than she had felt at any time through the journey.

“Fairfax must change with you, and let you ride Star for a time,” spoke Mrs. Johnson, regarding her with solicitude. “I am sure that will rest you.”

“I think it will,” answered Peggy. “I do feel just a little weary of the carriage, friend nurse. Perhaps thy son would like the change also? It must be lonely for him riding all alone.”

Nurse Johnson laughed as she caught the girl’s look.

“You must not mind his not talking,” she said. “I think he hath never spoken to a girl in his life. Still, he is a good son, for all his shyness.”

The change to Star’s back was made, and they started forward at renewed speed. Peggy’s spirits rose as she found herself on the little mare, and she rode ahead of the vehicle sometimes, or sometimes alongside of it chatting gayly. So pleasantly did the time pass that none of them noticed that the sky had become overcast with clouds. A heavy drop of rain falling upon her face compelled the girl’s attention.

“Why, ’tis raining,” she exclaimed in surprise.

“There’s going to be a thunder-storm,” cried Nurse Johnson viewing the clouds in dismay. “How suddenly it hath come up. Fairfax, we must put in at the nearest plantation. Let Peggy get back in with me so that she will not get wet. Then we must make speed.”

The lad got out of the vehicle obediently, and approached the girl to assist her from the horse. As she sprang lightly to the ground, he gazed at her earnestly for a moment as though realizing the necessity of speech, and said:

“It looks like rain.”

As he spoke the far horizon was illuminated by a succession of lurid flashes of lightning which shone with fiery brilliancy against the black masses of thunder-clouds. The muttering of thunder told that the storm was almost upon them. The fact was so evident that no living being could deny it. The lad’s observation differed so from what she had expected from him that there was no help for it, and Peggy gave way to a peal of merry laughter.

“I cry thee pardon, Friend Fairfax,” she gasped. “It doth indeed look like rain.”

For a second the young fellow stood as though not realizing the full import of what he had said, and then, as heavy drops began to patter rapidly through the trees, the girl’s merriment infected him and he too burst into laughter.

“It is raining,” he corrected himself, which remark but added to the girl’s mirth.

“Where are we?” asked his mother as Peggy took her place beside her.

“We are near His Excellency’s plantation, mother.”

“His Excellency?” cried Peggy. “Do you mean General Washington’s house, friend nurse?”

“To be sure, Peggy,” said Mrs. Johnson glancing about her. “Mount Vernon lies just beyond us on our left. We must put in there.”