“Oh, but that is _charmante_!” exclaimed Sally. “Would that my mother thought likewise, but I fear me that I shall have to wear the same muslin frock that I’ve been wearing. Hey day! Thee is a fortunate girl, Peggy.” “Am I not?” said Peggy gaily. “I have had no new one for so long that it quite upsets me. I think of nothing else, and long for the time to come to choose it.” “Yes; but do hurry now,” cried Sally impatiently. “Thou art sufficiently smart for a country lass.” “Thee is saucy, Sally,” answered Peggy giving her a playful push. “Don’t call me a country girl. Thou art not so citified.” “Well, I haven’t spent a whole year on a farm,” retorted Sally. “Peggy, if thee gives another stroke to thy hair thy cap will slip off. ’Tis as smooth as satin now.” “There! I am ready at last,” declared Peggy adjusting her riding mask. “Oh, Sally, ’tis so good to be home again!” “And ’tis so good to have thee, Peggy,” returned her friend. “Nothing is the same without thee. Why, when the city was under Sir William Howe——” “Something hath happened,” interrupted Peggy hastily, bending her head to listen. “Mother is calling, and she seems upset. Come, Sally.” They hurried out of the room, and went quickly to the eastern piazza where Mrs. Owen and Tom, the groom, stood. “What is it, mother?” asked Peggy noting their disturbed looks. “Peggy,” said her mother going to her, “thee must be very brave, my child. Star is gone. She hath been stolen from the stable.” “Star! My pony stolen!” cried the girl as though unable to believe her ears. “My pony! Oh, mother, it can’t be true!” “I fear that it is only too true,” answered the lady sorrowfully. “But stolen? Who would steal Star? Tom,”—turning quickly to the negro groom,—“when did thee see her last? Didn’t thee feed her this morning? “No’m; I ain’t seed her dis mo’nin’,” answered Tom who seemed stupefied by the occurrence. “I fed her las’ night, Miss Peggy, but when I kum out dis mo’nin’ she wuz gone. De back doah wuz open, an’ I know’d she wuz stole, kase I fas’n’d dat doah my own sef las’ night.” “Oh, but she can’t be,” cried Peggy with a sob. “Maybe she has just strayed away. Has thee looked in the garden, Tom? Or through the orchard?” “I hab looked ebberwhar, Miss Peggy,” declared the black with dignity. “Torm warn’t gwine ter take any chances ob not seein’ dat are mare when she de onlyest piece ob hoss-flesh dat we has dat mounts ter a row ob pins. No’m; she stole. Dat’s all dere is to it.” “Peggy, Peggy!” called Robert Dale who, grown tired of waiting, had come in search of the girls. “What keeps you so long?” “Oh, Robert!” wailed Peggy bursting into tears. “My horse is stolen! My pretty, pretty pony that father gave me!” “Star stolen?” cried the youth aghast. Tom told his story again. “And the door was fastened last night, you say? How about the door into the yard, Tom?”