“Set thy mind at rest upon that point, Peggy. Naught that thou canst say to him can work him injury. Hath our friend told thee why he deserted?” “He feared another winter,” answered Peggy. “And perhaps he hath cause to; for he hath been through the march to Quebec under General Arnold, and last winter he spent at Valley Forge. And so he ran away to keep from passing another such season in the army.” “Poor lad!” sighed the lady. “’Tis no wonder that he deserted. Yet those who endure such hardships for so long rarely desert. ’Tis but a passing weakness. Let us hope that he will return when he is well enough. He is of too good a mettle to be lost.” “I mean him to go back,” announced Peggy resolutely. “Peggy, what is worrying thy brain?” exclaimed her mother. “Child, let me look at thee.” “Leave him to me, mother,” cried the girl, her eyes shining like stars. “He shall yet be something other than a summer soldier.” CHAPTER IX—THE TALE OF A HERO “Paradise is under the shadow of swords.” —Mahomet. “Thee must excuse me, Friend John. I am late with thy dinner because General Arnold dined with us, and we sat long at table,” explained Peggy the next day as she entered the room where Drayton sat. “Arnold?” cried the young fellow, starting up. “Was General Arnold here? Here? Under this very roof? Could I get a glimpse of him?” He ran to the front window as he spoke and threw it open. Now this window faced upon Chestnut Street, and there was danger of being seen, so Peggy ran to him in great perturbation. “Come back,” she cried in alarm. “Some one might see thee. He hath gone. Thou canst not see him. Dost forget that if any see thee thou mayst be taken?” “I had forgot,” said Drayton, drawing back into the room. “You did not speak of me?” he asked quickly, with some excitement. “Nay; calm thyself. We spoke naught of thee to him, nor to any. Have I not said we would not? Was thee not under the general during the march into Canada?” “Yes; but he was a colonel then. Hath his wound healed yet? Last spring at Valley Forge he was still on crutches. Is he still crippled?” “Yes, he is still lame. He uses the crutches when he hath not one of his soldier’s arms to lean upon.” “Would that he had mine to lean upon,” cried Drayton, with such feeling that Peggy was surprised. “Why? Does thee think so much of him?” she asked. “I’d die for him,” uttered the lad earnestly. “There isn’t one of us that was on that march to Quebec under him who wouldn’t.” “Suppose thee tells me about it,” suggested Peggy. “I have heard something of the happenings of that time, but not fully. The city rings with his prowess and gallant deeds. ’Tis said that he is generous and kind as well as brave.”