As they reached the door of the room under the stairs, however, their hostess came into the hall. A frown contracted her brow at sight of Fairfax.

“This is folly,” she exclaimed. “Boy, don’t you know that Tarleton’s troopers are outside?”

“Yes; and they plan to go to Charlottesville after dinner to capture the Assembly,” Peggy told her before the youth could reply. “Friend Fairfax is to slip away to warn them.”

“Come in here,” she said drawing them into the dining-room. “Now,” speaking rapidly as she closed the door, “what is the plan? I may be able to help.”

“We are going through the window of thy room to the grove where my horse is while thee gives them dinner,” explained the maiden.

“Why, child, that won’t do at all. They will leave a guard outside, of course. You could not pass them. Let me think.”

For a brief second she meditated while the boy and the girl waited hopefully.

“Are you able to do this?” she asked presently of Fairfax.

“Yes,” he answered. “Only devise some way for me to leave quickly. Every moment is precious.”

“You are right,” she replied. “Now just a minute.”

She left the room, returning almost immediately with two flowered frocks of osnaburg, and two enormous kerchiefs of the same stuff.

“These are what the mammies wear,” she said arranging one of the kerchiefs about the lad’s head turbanwise. “There, my boy! you will pass for a mammy if not given more than a glance.”

“Thee will make a good woman yet, Friend Fairfax,” remarked Peggy smiling as she noted that the youth moved with some ease in the skirts.

“Yes,” he assented sheepishly.

“Follow me boldly,” spoke the hostess. “We will pass through the yard from the kitchen to the smoke-house. If any of the dragoons call, mind them not. Above all turn not your faces toward them. Go on to the smoke-house, whatever happens. There is a back door through which you can go down the knoll to the ravine. Follow the ravine westward to the grove which lies back of the mill where the horse is. If you keep to the ravine ’twill lead you into the road unobserved by any. Now if everything is understood we will go.”

They followed her silently through the kitchen and out into the yard. The hostess kept up a lively stream of talk during the passage to the smoke-house.

“I reckon we’d better have another ham,” she said in a voice that could be heard at no little distance. “There are so many of those fellows. Aunt Betsy ‘low’d there were more than a hundred, and I reckon she’s right.” There were in truth one hundred and eighty cavalrymen, with seventy mounted infantry. “A few chickens wouldn’t go amiss either. They might as well have them. The next gang would take them anyway.” And so on.

From all sides came grunts of satisfaction, showing that the remarks had been overheard by many of the dragoons, which was intended. The smoke-house was reached in safety, and the good woman led them to the rear door.

“I’ll keep them here as long as I can,” she said, “if I have to cook everything on the place. You shall have at least two hours’ start, my boy. God bless you! It’s a brave thing you are doing, but those men must be warned.”

“I know,” he answered. “And now good-bye.”

“And do you stay in the grove until these British are gone, my dear,” she advised Peggy. “I will feel better to have you down there out of their sight. Jimmy shall come for you as soon as they are gone. You won’t mind?”

“I shall like it,” answered Peggy. “Come, friend.”

“I will have to ride hard and fast, Mistress Peggy,” said Fairfax. When they reached the grove a few moments later he removed Peggy’s saddle, strapped on a blanket, and unfastened the bridle. “It may be the last time you will see your little mare.”

“I know,” she answered. Winding her arms about the pony’s neck she laid her head upon the silken mane, and so stood while the lad doffed the osnaburg frock and disfiguring turban. As he swung himself lightly to Star’s back the girl looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

“Friend Fairfax,” she said, “thee is so brave. Yet I have laughed at thee.”

“Brave? No,” he responded. “’Tis duty.”

“But I have laughed at thee because of thy shyness,” repeated the girl remorsefully. “Thee always seems so afraid of us females, yet thee can do this, or aught else that is for thy country. Why is it?”

Over his face the red blood ran. He sat for the briefest second regarding her with a puzzled air.

“To defend the country from the invader, to do anything that can be done to thwart the enemy’s designs, is man’s duty,” he said at length. “But to face a battery of bright eyes requires courage, Mistress Peggy. And that I have not.”

The words were scarcely uttered before he was gone.

The British were at the house, and some of them might stray into her retreat at any moment; the youth who had started forth so bravely might fail to give his warning in time to save the men upon whom the welfare of the state depended; she might never see her own little mare again; but, in spite of all these things the maiden sank upon a rock shaken with laughter.

“The dear, shy fellow!” she gasped sitting up presently to wipe her eyes. “And he hath no courage! Ah, Betty! thy ‘Silent Knight’ hath spoken to some purpose at last. I must remember the exact words. Let me see! He said:

“‘To defend the country from the invader, to do anything that can be done to thwart the enemy’s designs, is man’s duty. But to face a battery of bright eyes requires courage, Mistress Peggy. And that I have not.’

“Won’t the girls laugh when I tell them?”

It was pleasant under the trees. An oriole swung from the topmost bough of a large oak pouring forth a flood of song. Woodpeckers flapped their bright wings from tree to tree. A multitude of sparrows flashed in and out of the foliage, or circled joyously about blossoming shrubs. From distant fields and forests the caw of the crows winging their slow way across the blue sky came monotonously. A cloud of yellow butterflies rested upon the low banks of the ravine crowned with ferns. Into the heart of a wild honeysuckle a humming-bird whirred, delighting Peggy by its beauty, minuteness and ceaseless motion of its wings. And so the long hours of the afternoon passed, and the westering sun was casting long shadows under the trees before Jimmy came with the news that the British had gone.

“And wasn’t that Colonel Tarleton in a towering rage,” commented the mistress of the dwelling as Peggy reËntered the house. “He stormed because dinner was so late. And such a dinner. I’ll warrant those troopers won’t find hard riding so easy after it. Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry will owe a great deal to fried chicken, if they get warned in time. It took every chicken I had on the place, and not a few hams. But it gave that boy a good start, so I don’t mind. Do you think he’ll get through, my dear?”

“Yes, I do,” answered Peggy. “If it can be done I feel sure that Fairfax Johnson can do it. I must tell thee what he said,” she ended with a laugh. “It hath much amused me.”

“I don’t wonder that you were amused,” observed the good woman, laughing in turn as Peggy related the youth’s speech. “Those same batteries have brought low many a brave fellow. ’Tis as well to be afraid of them. He is wise who is ware in time. Yet those same bashful fellows are ofttimes the bravest. Methinks I have heard that General Washington was afflicted with the same malady in his youth. And now let us hope that we will have a breathing spell long enough to become acquainted with each other.”

Four days later a weary, drooping youth astride a limping little mare came slowly down the shady lane just at sunset. Peggy was the first to see them, and flew to the horse-block.

“Oh, thee is back, Friend Fairfax! Thee is back!” she cried delightedly. “And did thee succeed? How tired thee looks! And Star also!”

“We are both tired,” he said dismounting and sinking heavily against the horse-block. “But we got there in time. Governor Jefferson and his family escaped over the mountains. Mr. Henry and others scattered to places of safety. They captured seven, because they heeded not the alarm, and lingered over breakfast. But not—not Patrick Henry nor Thomas Jefferson.”

He swayed as though about to fall, then roused himself.

“Look to the mare! She, she needs attention,” he cried, and fell in an unconscious heap.

“And somebody else does too, I reckon,” spoke the mistress of the dwelling, running out in answer to Peggy’s call. “Jimmy, do you begin rubbing down that little mare. I’ll be out to look after her as soon as Peggy and I get this boy attended to. Poor fellow! he has gone to the full limit of his strength.”