“A soldier’s time is never his own, Peggy. It hath been delightful to have even these few days. After the hard marching of the past weeks ’tis like an oasis in the desert to tarry in a real home. From all I hear we are likely to be on the move for some time to come. ’Twas openly talked in camp, before I left, that ’twas our general’s plan to draw my Lord Cornwallis as far from his base of supplies as possible. If that be true we shall do naught but march for some time to come. This is a good rest for me.” “If thy stay is so short then we must see that ’tis made as pleasant as possible,” declared Mrs. Owen. And from that moment the three, for Harriet threw off her depression and was once more the charming girl that she had been at Middlebrook, devoted themselves so successfully to his entertainment that Drayton declared that it was well that he had a horse to carry him away; for he would never leave of his own volition. “It hath been delightful,” he reiterated as he was about to depart. “I doubt that ’tis good for me to have so much pampering. ’Twill give me a desire to play the messenger at all times, and make me long for comforts that are not to be found in camp, or on the march. You shall hear from me soon, Mistress Harriet. Even though I should not overtake your brother and the dragoons still you shall have word of it.” With that he was gone. Life with its duties resumed its accustomed routine at the Owens’ dwelling with the exception that Harriet seemed much improved. The interest in her brother was the thing needful to arouse her, and she daily gained in strength. The two horses, Star and Fleetwood, were brought from the stables, and the girls with Tom as groom again rode whenever the weather was pleasant. And so a week passed. February was folded away in the book of years, and March was upon them; but if Drayton had overtaken the horsemen on his way South they had received no word. “How warm the sun is,” exclaimed Harriet as she and Peggy were returning from a long ride on the first of the month. “Were it not that I might receive word from Lieutenant Drayton about Clifford, I would suggest that we turn about and go on to Chestnut Hill. It would be pleasant to be out all afternoon.” “Nay,” demurred Peggy. “The distance to Chestnut Hill makes it not to be thought of. Besides, dinner is at two, and mother wished us to be home in time for that. Though it is pleasant.” It was pleasant. The storm month had begun his sway with the mildness of the proverbial lamb. The air held just enough of keenness to be bracing, and the sky was blue with the blueness of May. There was the promise of spring in the woods. The almost dead silences of winter had disappeared. The song of the occasional robin was heard; the flutter of wings, and the almost silent noises of the trees and thickets, evidenced in the swelling buds of the bare branches.