“As he fell he cried out to us, ‘Rush on, my brave boys, rush on!’ But one, in fury at seeing the general wounded, dashed at the wounded German, and would have run him through with his bayonet had not the general cried: ‘Don’t hurt him, he but did his duty. He is a fine fellow.’” “I don’t wonder that thee loves him,” cried Peggy, her eyes sparkling at the recital. “I believe with thee that though all others should fail he would fight the enemy even though he would fight alone. Oh, I must get thee to tell mother this! I knew not that he was so brave!” “Yes,” reiterated Master Drayton positively. “He would fight even though he fought alone. But I am not made of such stuff. I am no hero, Mistress Peggy. Beside, have not the Parley-voos come over to fight for us? They have all the honors given them; let them have the miseries too.” “But why should the French fight our battles for us?” demanded the girl bluntly. “They are only to help us. Why should they exert themselves to save that which we do not value enough to fight for?” “’Tis expected by the army, anyway,” said Drayton. “I know that I’ll do no more.” “Thee is a poor tired lad,” said the girl gently. “And thy dinner. See how little thou hast eaten. I have talked too long with thee to-day. Later we will renew the subject.” “Renew it an you will,” retorted the boy assuming again his jaunty manner, half defiance, half swagger. “’Twill make no difference. I have served my last. Unless the recruiting officer finds me you won’t catch me in the army again.” Peggy smiled a knowing little smile, but made no answer. “We shall see,” she thought as she left the room. “Methinks thee has some martial spirit left, Friend John.” CHAPTER X—PEGGY TEACHES A LESSON “Rise then, my countrymen! for fight prepare, Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war! For your grieved country nobly dare to die, And empty all your veins for liberty.” —Jonathan Mitchell Sewall. It was several days before Peggy could have another talk with Master Drayton, but meantime she set up the needles and began to knit vigorously on stockings, spun into thread more of the flax, and put Sukey to work weaving it into cloth. “Peggy, what is thee so busy about?” asked Mrs. Owen, coming into the kitchen where the girl had been at work since the dawn. Peggy looked up from the dye kettle with a puzzled look on her face, and gave an extra poke at the cloth reposing therein by way of emphasis. “I am trying to dye some cloth, mother, but it doesn’t seem to come right. What shall be done to indigo to get a pretty blue? I had no trouble with the yellow dye. See how beautifully this piece came out. Such a soft fine buff! I am pleased with it—but this——” She paused and turned inquiringly toward her mother. Mrs. Owen took the stick from her hand, and held up a piece of cloth from the steaming kettle, examining it critically.