“Harriet hath no housewifely tastes,” he said hastily, “and my son shares her extravagant habits. Between them and the necessity of maintaining a position befitting an officer, I am like to come to grief. You are a good little thing, after all, Peggy. And now let me take you about and put you in charge.” And thus it came that Peggy found herself installed at the head of her cousin’s household. The position was no sinecure. She made mistakes, for never before had she been thrown so entirely upon her own resources, but she had been well trained, and the result was soon apparent in the lessened expenditures. The experience was of great benefit to her, and she grew womanly and self-reliant under the charge. Her cousin’s manner too underwent a most pleasing transformation. He was kindly, and but seldom made cutting and sarcastic speeches at her expense. Upon the other hand, she was subjected to a petty tyranny from Harriet quite at variance with her former deportment. And the spring passed into summer; summer waxed and waned, and in all that time there had come no word from her father or mother, nor had there been opportunity for her to send them any. That the war was going disastrously against the patriots in the South she could not but gather from the rejoicings of the British. Of the capture of Stony Point on the Hudson by the Americans she was kept in ignorance. The influx of a large body of troops and militia into the city, the surrounding of the island by forty men-of-war, told that Sir Henry Clinton feared attack. And so the summer passed. In December the troops from Rhode Island were hastily withdrawn, the city strongly fortified, and everything indicated a movement of some kind. Peggy tried to ascertain what it was, but for some time could not do so. The snow which had begun falling in November now increased in the frequency of the storms, scarcely a day passed without its fall. The cold became severe, and ice formed in rivers and bay until at length both the Hudson and Sound rivers were frozen solidly. The bay also became as terra firma, and horses, wagons and artillery passed over the ice to Staten Island. “Is our stock of fire-wood getting low, Peggy?” inquired Colonel Owen one morning, laying down the “Rivington Gazette” which he was reading. “The paper speaks of the growing scarcity of wood, and says that if the severe weather continues we will be obliged to cut down the trees in the city for fuel.” “I ordered some yesterday from the woodyards,” Peggy told him. She was standing by one of the long windows overlooking the frozen Hudson. How near New Jersey seemed. Men and teams were at that moment passing over the ice on their way to and from the city. How easy it looked to go across. She turned to him suddenly. “How much longer am I to stay, Cousin William?” she asked.