"I believe 'tis done in order of capture, Sally. Those who are taken first are first to be liberated. And rank also hath much to do with it. A captain would not be exchanged until a captain of equal rank could be given for him. As to militia officers I know not how 'tis managed. But whatever can be done, Friend Ashley will do. He hath influence with the principal men of the county, and will no doubt use it for Fairfax's release. He is proud of his nephew. Methinks he grieves over the lad's imprisonment as much as his mother does." "I think he does, Peggy. Then too, he hath the welfare of Monmouth County so much at heart, and Fairfax was especially vigilant in suppressing the incendiary acts of the Tories and refugees, that he is missed. I hope he is well treated. 'Tis dreadful to be confined in such weather!" "I like not to think of it," remarked Peggy with a sigh. "I wish we had not teased him so; yet what sport it was to see him mantle." "There were times when I thought he liked it as well as we did, Peggy. And he was beginning to hold his own with us. There was wit in the conceit of naming his horse after both of us." "I wonder what became of that horse," exclaimed Peggy. "Would that Friend Ashley had it! He hath need of it for his trips into Freehold." "The enemy must have taken it. They destroyed everything that they did not take, and horses are valuable plunder. I saw naught of any animal after the town was burned." Both maidens became silent at the mention of that dreadful time. Neither willingly spoke of it, and any reference to the affair was casual. Peggy stooped and picked a sprig of tender grass, and began to bite it meditatively. "Friend Ashley comes back early," she remarked glancing over the fence into the road. "Methought he was not to return until nightfall." "Why, that was the intention," answered Sally. "I heard him tell his wife that 'twould be late ere he came back. I wonder why he did not stay?" She went to the fence and leaned upon it, gazing with some curiosity at Thomas Ashley's approaching form. "Peggy," she called quickly, "something is wrong. Does thee not see?" "He is ill," cried Peggy as the farmer stopped suddenly in his onward way and leaned against a tree. "Let us go to him, Sally." There was no gate near where they were standing so the girls climbed to the top of the fence, then jumping lightly down on the other side, they ran hastily to Farmer Ashley. "Is thee ill, friend?" queried Peggy. "Thee seems sick." "Sick? Ay! sick at heart, child." Thomas Ashley turned to them such a woebegone countenance that the maidens uttered cries of dismay. His face was lined and drawn, and into his kindly eyes had come an expression of care. He seemed no longer a robust, middle-aged man, but somehow old and feeble. "Lean on me," cried Peggy slipping her strong young arm about him. "Sally and I will help thee into the house." "Not yet," he said. "Not yet. Let me collect myself before I face Hannah."