“I have seen thee several times give something to a common soldier, as thee calls him. Yesterday when we were leaving General Greene’s I saw thee slip something to one when he came forward to tighten Fleetwood’s girth. John saw it too.” “I had forgot,” remarked the girl carelessly. “Yes; I did give him a bit of money. Methinks he hath rendered us several services of like nature, Peggy, when something hath gone amiss. Yet it may not have been the same soldier. I scarce can tell one from another, there are so many.” “Thee has a good heart,” commended Peggy warmly. “Mother says that ’tis the only way to do a kindness. Perform the deed, and then forget it. But I always remember.” “Does Cousin David ride with us to-day, or doth the ensign?” asked Harriet. “’Tis John, my cousin. Father is on duty.” “I am sorry,” said Harriet. “I do not like Ensign Drayton. He reminds me of a song they sing at home: “‘With little hat and hair dressed high, And whip to ride a pony; If you but take a right survey Denotes a macaroni,’” she trilled musically. “Now don’t say anything, Peggy. I know he is considered a lad of parts. I heard two officers say that he would no doubt distinguish himself ere the war was over. ’Twas at Mrs. Knox’s kettledrum.” “Now I must tell mother that,” cried Peggy, her momentary vexation at Harriet’s song vanishing. “He is our especial soldier.” “Is he? And why?” asked Harriet. “Nay,” she added as Peggy hesitated. “’Tis no matter. I knew not that it was a secret. I care not. I like him not, anyway. Peggy, do you like me very much?” “I do indeed, Harriet,” answered Peggy earnestly. “Why?” “I am just heart-sick to hear from my father,” said Harriet, the tears welling up into her beautiful eyes. “It hath been so long since I heard. Not at all since I came, so long ago.” “’Tis hard to get letters through the lines,” said Peggy soberly. “I know it is, for I have tried,” answered Harriet. “The officers won’t send them. If you were away from Cousin David wouldn’t you make every effort to hear from him?” “Indeed I would,” responded Peggy. “Harriet, has thee asked father to help thee? He would take the matter to General Washington.” “General Washington does not wish to do it because I am British,” answered Harriet after a moment. “I know that they must be careful, but oh! I am so anxious anent my father, Cousin Peggy.” “That is just as mother and I were about father last winter,” observed Peggy. “At last Robert Dale wrote us that he was a prisoner in Philadelphia, and I rode into the city to see him.” “Was that when father was exchanged for him?” questioned the girl eagerly. “Y-yes,” hesitated Peggy. She did not like to tell Harriet what effort had to be made to get the exchange. “Peggy, he helped you anent Cousin David then; will you help me about my father?” “How could I, Harriet?” asked Peggy.