“Is thee trying to flout thy mother, Peggy?” asked Mrs. Owen laughing in spite of herself. “I may in truth be over-anxious and fearful, but ’tis strange that John feels so too. As thee says, it does seem as though naught could happen with the whole army lying so near. Still I have the feeling that harm threatens through the English girl.” But the days passed, and the time brought no change to Harriet’s manner. She remained affectionately deferent to Mr. Owen, full of respectful courtesy toward Mrs. Owen, and had adopted a playful comradeship toward Peggy that was charming. The good lady’s reserve was quite melted at length, and she became as devoted to the girl as her husband and daughter. With girlish enthusiasm the maidens regulated their own days by that of the camp. They rose with the beating of the reveille, reported to Mrs. Owen as officer of the day for assignments of duty, and, much to her amusement, saluted her respectfully when given tasks of knitting or sewing. When the retreat sounded at sunset they announced their whereabouts by a loud, “Here,” as the soldiers answered to roll call, and, unless there was some merrymaking at one of the various headquarters, went to bed at the beating of tattoo. Lady Washington joined her husband in February, and there was an added dignity to the kettledrums and merrymakings in consequence. Better conditions prevailed throughout the camp than had obtained at Valley Forge the preceding winter. The army was at last comfortably hutted. The winter was mild, no snow falling after the tenth of January. Supplies were coming in with some degree of plenitude, and the outlook favored rejoicing and entertainment. But life was not all given up to amusement. The women met together, and mended the soldiers’ clothes, made them shirts and socks whenever cloth and yarn were to be had, visited the cabins, carrying delicacies from their own tables for the sick, and did everything they could to ameliorate the lot of the soldier. After a few such visits to the huts Harriet made a protest. “I like not common soldiers,” she explained to Peggy. “I mind not the sewing, though I do not understand why Americans deem it necessary to always be so industrious. ’Tis as though they felt that they must earn their pleasures before taking them.” “Are not ladies in England industrious too?” inquired Peggy. “They look after their households, of course, my cousin. And they paint flowers, or landscapes, and the tambour frame is seldom out of the hand when one is not practicing on the spinet, but they do not concern themselves with the welfare of the common soldiers as your women do.” “Oh, Harriet,” laughed Peggy. “Thee has said that before, but thee does not practice what thee preaches.” “What mean you?” demanded Harriet with a startled look.