There followed some days of quiet at the farmhouse. Their peacefulness was gladly welcomed by the inmates after the turmoil caused by passing troops, and Peggy and her hostess, Mrs. Weston, hoped for a continuance of the boon. But if the days were tranquil they were far from idle.

Beside the household tasks there were Fairfax Johnson to be cared for, and the little mare to be brought back to condition. Peggy found herself almost happy in assisting in these duties, so true is it that occupation brings solace to sorely tried hearts.

The youth’s illness soon passed, but there remained the necessity for rest and nourishment. Rest he could have in plenty, but they were hard pressed to furnish the proper nourishment. The place had been stripped of almost everything, and had it not been for the grove where a few cows shared Star’s hiding-place, and an adjoining swamp in whose recesses Mrs. Weston had prudently stored some supplies the household must have suffered for the lack of the merest necessities. Still if they could remain unmolested they could bear scanty rations; so cheerfully they performed their daily tasks, praying that things would continue as they were.

If there was peace at the farmhouse it was more than could be said for the rest of the state. Hard on the heels of Lafayette Cornwallis followed, cutting a swath of desolation and ruin. Tarleton and Simcoe rode wherever they would, committing such enormities that the people forgot them only with death. Virginia, the last state of the thirteen to be invaded, was harried as New Jersey had been, but by troops made less merciful by the long, fierce conflict.

Hither and thither flitted Lafayette, too weak to suffer even defeat, progressing ever northward, and drawing his foe after him from tide-water almost to the mountains. Finding it impossible to come up with his youthful adversary, or to prevent the junction of that same adversary’s forces with those of Wayne, Cornwallis turned finally, and leisurely made his way back toward the seacoast. He had profited by Greene’s salutary lesson, and did not propose to be drawn again from a base where reinforcements and supplies could reach him. Information of these happenings gradually reached the farmhouse, filling its inmates with the gravest apprehensions.

One warm, bright afternoon in June Peggy left the house for her daily visit to Star. With the caution that she always used in approaching the hiding-place of her pet the girl reached the grove by a circuitous route. A sort of rude stable, made of branches and underbrush set against ridge poles, had been erected for the pony’s accommodation, and as she drew near this enclosure Peggy heard the voice of some one speaking. Filled with alarm for the safety of her mare she stole softly forward to listen. Yes; there was certainly some one with the animal. As she stood debating what was to be done, she was amazed to hear the following speech made in a wondering tone:

“Now just why should you be down here in Virginia when your proper place is in a stable in Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Star? Hath some magic art whisked you here, or what hath happened? I wish thee could speak, as Peggy would say, so that thee could unravel the matter for me.”

“John! John Drayton!” screamed Peggy joyfully running forward. “How did thee get here? I thought thee was in South Carolina. ’Tis Peggy, John.”

“Peggy?” exclaimed Drayton, issuing from the enclosure. “Peggy! I see it is,” he said regarding her with blank amazement. “But how did you get here? I thought you safe at home in Philadelphia?”

“’Tis a long story,” cried she, half crying. “And oh, John! does thee know that Cornwallis is fast approaching this point with his army? Is’t not dangerous for thee to be here?”

“Nay,” he replied. “I seek his lordship.”

“Thee what?” she cried, amazed.

“Never mind about it now, Peggy,” he said drawing her under the shade of a tree. “Sit down and tell me how you came here. Is it the ‘cousins’ again?”

“Yes, ’tis the cousins,” answered the maiden flushing. “I could not do other than come, John. Mother and I did not know that the enemy had invaded the state. At least,” correcting herself quickly, “we did know that General Arnold had made a foray in January, but ’twas deemed by many as but a predatory incursion, and, as we heard no more of it, we thought he had returned to New York. I saw him, and spoke with him, John,” she ended sadly.

“But the cousins, Peggy! The rest can wait until you tell me what new quidnunc tale was invented to lure you here.”

“Thee must not speak so, John,” she reproached him. “Thee will be sorry when I tell thee about Clifford’s illness. He was nigh to death, in truth, but ’twas not for me he sent, but his own sister Harriet.” Forthwith she related all the occurrences that had led to her coming. Drayton listened attentively.

“I wish that you and your mother were not so kind hearted,” he remarked when she had finished her narrative. “No, I don’t mean that exactly. I could not, after all that you did for me. But from the bottom of my heart I do wish that those relatives of yours would go back to England and stay there. They are continually getting you into trouble.”

“Would thee have us refuse my kinsman’s plea?” she asked him. “’Twould have been inhuman not to respond to such an appeal.”

“I suppose it would,” he replied grumblingly. “But I don’t like it one bit that you are here among all the movements of the two armies. See here, Peggy! The thing to do is to get you home, and I’m going to take you there.”

“Will thee, John?” cried Peggy in delight. “How good thee is! Oh, ’tis a way opened at last. But won’t it cause thee a great deal of trouble?”

“So much, my little cousin, that we will not permit him to undertake it,” spoke the wrathful tones of her cousin. “I am sorry to interrupt so interesting a conversation, but ’tis necessary to explain to this,—well, gentleman, that ’tis not at all necessary for him to trouble concerning your welfare. I am amply able to care for you.”

“Clifford!” ejaculated Peggy starting up in surprise, and confronting the youth, who had approached them unnoticed.

“Yes, Clifford,” returned the lad who was evidently in a passion. “’Tis quite time that Clifford came, is it not? As I was saying, ’twill not do to take this gentleman from his arduous duties. This Yankee captain meddles altogether too much in our private affairs. It is not at all to my liking.”

“So?” remarked Drayton cheerfully. He had not changed his position, but sat slightly smiling, eyeing the other youth curiously.

“No, sir,” repeated Clifford heatedly. “We will not trouble you, sir. Further, we can dispense with your presence immediately.”

“That,” observed Drayton shifting his position to one of more ease, “that, sir, is for Peggy to decide.”

“My cousin’s name is Mistress Margaret Owen,” cried Clifford. “You will oblige me by using it so when ’tis necessary to address her. Better still, pleasure me by not speaking to her at all.”

“Clifford, thou art beside thyself,” cried Peggy who had been too astonished at the attitude of her cousin to speak. “John is a dear friend. I have known him longer than I have thee, and——”

“Peggy, keep out of this affair, I beg,” cried he stiffly. “The matter lies betwixt this fellow and myself. Captain, I cry you pardon, sir,”—interrupting himself to favor Drayton with an ironic bow,—“I fear me that I rank you too high. Lieutenant, is’t not?”

“Nay, captain. Captain Drayton, at your service, sir.” The American arose slowly, and made a profound obeisance. “Methinks at our last little chat I remarked that perchance another victory would so honor me. ’Twas at Hobkirk’s Hill.”

“You said a victory, sir,” cried the other with passion. “Hobkirk’s Hill was a defeat for the rebels.”

“A defeat, I grant you.” Drayton picked a thread of lint from his sleeve, and puffed it airily from him. “A defeat so fraught with disaster to the victors that many more such would annihilate the whole British army. A defeat so calamitous in effect that Lord Rawdon could no longer hold Camden after inflicting it, and so evacuated that place.”

“’Tis false,” raged Clifford Owen. “If Lord Rawdon held Camden, he still holds it. He would evacuate no post held by him.”

“Perchance there are other war news that might be of interest,” went on Drayton provokingly, evidently enjoying the other’s rage. “I have the honor to inform you, sir, that Fort Watson, Fort Motte and Granby all have surrendered to the rebels. They have proceeded to Ninety Six, and are holding that place in a state of siege. The next express will doubtless bring intelligence of its fall. Permit me, sir, to felicitate you upon the extreme prowess of the British army.”

“And what, sir, is the American army?” stormed Clifford. “A company of tinkers and locksmiths. A lot of riffraff and ragamuffins. What is your Washington but a planter? And your much-lauded commander in the South? What is he but a smith? A smith?” he scoffed sneeringly. “Odds life, sir! can an army be made of such ilk?”

“The planter hath sent two of your trained generals packing,” retorted Drayton. “The first left by the only ‘Gate’ left open by the siege; the other did not know ‘Howe’ to take root in this new soil. The third remains in New York like a mouse in a trap, afraid to come out lest he should be pounced upon. Our smith——” he laughed merrily. “His hammer hath been swung to such purpose that my Lord Cornwallis hath been knocked out of the Carolinas, and the South is all but retaken. Training! Poof! ’Tis not needed by tinkers and locksmiths to fight the English.”

“Draw and defend yourself,” roared the English lad, whipping out his sword furiously. “Such insult can only be wiped out in blood.”

“Thou shalt not,” screamed Peggy throwing herself before him. “Thou shalt not. I forbid it. ’Twould be murder.”

“This is man’s affair, my cousin,” he said sternly. “Stand aside.”

“I will not, Clifford,” cried the girl. “I will not. Oh, to draw sword on each other is monstrous. For a principle, in defense of liberty, then it may be permitted; but this deliberate seeking of another’s life in private quarrel is murder. Clifford! John! I entreat ye both to desist.”

“She is right, sir,” spoke Drayton. “This is in truth neither time nor place to settle our differences.”

“And where shall we find a better?” cried Clifford, who was beside himself with rage. “If you wish not to bear the stigma of cowardice, you must draw.”

But Drayton made no motion toward his sword.

“Nay,” he said. “’Tis not fitting before her. I confess that I was wrong to further provoke you when I saw you in passion. In truth you were so heated that to exasperate you more gave me somewhat of pleasure. I cry you pardon. There will no doubt be occasion more suitable——”

“I decline to receive your apology, sir,” retorted Clifford Owen hotly. “Perchance a more suitable occasion in your eyes would be when I am at the disadvantage of being a prisoner. Or, perchance, you find it convenient to hide behind my cousin’s petticoats. Once more, sir; for the last time: If you have honor, if you are not a poltroon as well as a braggart and a boaster, draw and defend yourself.”

“It will have to be, Peggy,” said Drayton leading her aside. “There will be bad blood until this is settled, and your cousin hath gone too far. Suffer it to go on, I entreat.”

“’Tis murder,” she wailed weeping. “Thou art my dear friend. Clifford is my dear cousin. Oh, I pray ye both to desist.”

“If you flout me longer I will cut you down where you stand,” roared the British youth fiercely. “Is it not enough that I must beg for the satisfaction that gentlemen usually accord each other upon a hint?”

Drayton wheeled, and faced him jauntily.

“’Tis pity to keep so much valor waiting,” he said saluting. “On guard, my friend.”