“Till the war closes,” he said laughing. As a shadow passed over her face he added: “And that won’t be much longer, my little cousin. There is a movement on foot that is going to bring it to a close before you realize what hath happened. We have at last got your Mr. Washington in a cul de sac from which he cannot escape.” “Where is General Washington, my cousin?” asked she quickly. “On the heights of Morristown, in New Jersey. Nay,” he laughed as a sudden eager light flashed into her eyes, “you cannot reach him, Peggy. If you could get through the lines, which you cannot, for the guards have been increased to prevent surprise, you could not go through the forest. The snow lies four feet on the level. You could not get through the woods. But cheer up! I promise you a glimpse of your hero soon. The war is on its last legs.” Peggy gazed after him with troubled eyes as he left the room. What was the new movement on foot? Pondering the matter much she went about the duties of the day. About the middle of the forenoon an ox cart with the wood she had ordered drove into the stable yard. She uttered an exclamation of vexation as she saw the ragged heap which the driver was piling. Throwing a wrap about her she hurried into the yard where the team was. “Friend,” she called severely, for Peggy looked well to the ways of the household, “that is not the way to unload the wood. It must be corded so that it can be measured.” “Yes, mistress,” answered the driver, touching his hat. Peggy started. He had given the military salute instead of the usual curtsey of the countryman. She looked at him intently. There was something strangely familiar about him, she thought, but he was so bundled up that she could only see his eyes. Whistling cheerfully the driver began to cord the wood as she directed. “Thou art not o’erstrong for the work,” she commented as he struggled valiantly with a great stick. “I will send one of the stablemen to help thee.” “Wait, Peggy,” he said in a low tone. “John!” almost screamed the girl. “John Drayton!” CHAPTER XXV—THE ALERT THAT FAILED “What gain we by our toils if he escape Whom we came hither solely to subdue?” —“Count Julian,” Landor. “Be careful,” warned Drayton, letting the stick fall with a crash. “Can you come to Rachel Fenton’s house in little Queen Street this morning? We can talk there.” “Yes, yes,” cried Peggy eagerly. “I know where it is. I will go there from market. John, my mother——” “Is well,” he answered quickly. “Don’t ask anything more now, but go in. ’Tis cold out here.” “But thee?” she questioned loth to leave him. “Oh, I’m used to it,” he responded airily. “Just send along that stableman though, Peggy. These sticks are heavy. And say! Is’t permitted to feed drivers of carts? There are not many rations just now in Morristown, and I’d really like to eat once more.”