And so, despite the fact that nothing had as yet been heard of the stolen pony, it was a very happy maiden that set forth with her mother the next day for the shops in Second Street. “Friend,” said the lady to a mercer who came forward to wait upon them, “let us look at thy petticoats, calimanico; for,” she said in an aside to Peggy, “’twill be the part of wisdom to purchase the homely articles first, lest we be carried beyond our intention for the frocks. We shall have to be careful, as the prices, no doubt, have become higher. How much is this, friend?” “Fifteen pounds, fifteen shillings,” answered he. Mrs. Owen looked up in amazement, while Peggy, with less control, cried out: “Such a price, and without quilting! Once it could have been bought for fifteen shillings.” “’Tis very likely,” smiled the shopkeeper. “That must have been before the war. Prices are soaring on everything, and are like to go higher before falling.” Mrs. Owen laid down the garment gravely. “A coat and a hat,” she said. “What will be the cost of a very ordinary one of each?” “They cannot be procured under two hundred pounds, madam.” “And gauze for caps?” “The common grade is twenty-four dollars a yard. The better quality fifty dollars.” “Mother,” whispered Peggy, “why need thee buy the petticoat? We can weave cloth for it, and I can quilt it myself.” “True, Peggy,” assented her mother. “I think we can manage about the petticoat, but a frock thou must have. A frock and some gloves.” “Cloth for a frock, madam?” questioned the merchant eagerly. “Shall it be lutestring, poplin, brocade, or broadcloth? I have the best of England, madam.” But Mrs. Owen’s face grew grave indeed as he mentioned prices. Peggy’s eyes filled with tears. She saw her new frock vanishing into thin air as fabric after fabric was brought forth only to be rejected when the cost was named. She knew that she had nothing to wear to the tea at headquarters unless a new gown was purchased, and she choked in her disappointment. Her mother saw her tears and turned to the merchant with determination. “I will——” she opened her lips to say, when some one tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and a clear voice called: “Why, Madam Owen, are you buying gowns? What extravagance! If farm life pays well enough to buy cloth these times I shall get me to a farmery at once. Mr. Bache wishes to go.” “Sally Franklin, how does thee do?” exclaimed Mrs. Owen, greeting the young matron warmly. “I came down intending to buy a great deal, but——” “The prices! The prices!” cried Franklin’s daughter, waving her hands. “It takes a fortune to keep a family in a very plain way. And there never was so much dressing and pleasure going on! I wrote to father to send me a number of things from France, among them some long black pins, lace, and some feathers, thinking he could get such things much cheaper there.” “And did he?” eagerly questioned Peggy, who had now recovered herself.