“Why? Because the thought of another winter took all the spirit out of me. Because I am tired of being hungry and cold; because I am tired of being ragged and dirty. I am tired of it all: the long hard marches with insufficient clothing to cover me by day, and no blanket but the snow at night. I made the march to Quebec through all the perils of the wilderness. Through sleet and driving snow it hath always been my fortune to serve. Last winter I spent among the dreary hills of Valley Forge, enduring all the miseries of that awful time. And then, after all that, for three such years of service what does an ungrateful country bestow upon me? The rank of ensign.” And he laughed bitterly. “But every foreign adventurer that comes whining to Congress may have the highest commission that is in their power to bestow. And what do they care for us who have borne the burden? Why, nothing but to let us starve.” “True,” said Peggy troubled. “True, Friend Drayton, and yet——” “And yet when we have given so much to an ungrateful country if we desert we are hounded like dogs, or runaway slaves,” he continued passionately. “And you, Mistress Peggy, who have known neither hunger nor cold, nor what it is to be in battle, stand there accusingly because I, forsooth, who have known all these things have tired of them. A summer soldier, you called me. A winter soldier would have been the better term.” Peggy’s face flushed. “Now,” he continued, “I am seeking to follow the precepts of the great Declaration which doth teach that every man hath the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness after his own fashion.” “Still,” remarked the girl, who was plainly puzzled by his reasoning, “if the British should succeed in defeating us what would become of the Declaration? Methinks that ’twould be the part of wisdom not to accord thy life by such precepts until they were definitely established.” “You are pleased to be sharp, mistress,” he said pushing back from the table. “I—I am in no condition to argue with you. I am weak,” he added reclining once more upon the settle. Peggy made no reply, and silently removed the dishes. A sparkle came into her eye as she noted their empty condition. “Mother,” she said as she entered the kitchen where that lady was, “does thee not think that our friend is able now to stand being reasoned with? He said but now that he was still weak.” Mrs. Owen laughed quietly as she saw that nothing had been left of the meal. “’Tis but natural that he should feel so, Peggy,” she said. “When one hath been without food and a proper place to sleep the senses become sharpened to the enjoyment of such things, and he but seeks to prolong his delight in them. Be not too hard on the lad, my child.” “But would it harm him, mother, to reason with him?” persisted Peggy. “If he can eat so, can he not be brought to see the error of his ways? I would not injure him for the world.”