Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for GirlsMadison, Lucy Foster
History
Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls
Madison, Lucy Foster
Philadelphia (Pa.) -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction
“Yes; but by your own confession you have given a note to this man, who
says that ’tis this very one. We have only your word that ’tis not so.
Then, too, you were alone when the warning note was found. It was not
soiled nor trampled upon as it would have been had it lain there long.
Child, you place yourself under suspicion.”
“I see,” she said miserably.
“’Tis a cruel necessity of war to use spies,” he went on, “but all
armies show them small mercy when they are caught. And it should be so.
The man, woman, or girl even, acting as one does so at the risk of
life.”
Peggy started. He had used almost the same words that John Drayton had
used the day they had seen the swinging body of the spy. A shudder shook
her. Again she saw the swaying form dangling from the tree. Small mercy
was shown a spy. Could she condemn Harriet to such a fate? Beautiful
Harriet with her wonderful eyes!
“Friend Washington,” she cried brokenly, “thee does not believe that I
would injure thee, or my country, does thee?”
“What am I to think, Miss Peggy?” he asked, ignoring her outstretched
hands.
“Give me a little time,” she cried. “Only a little time. Oh, I am sore
beset. I know not what to do.”
“Child,” he said with compassion, “I am thinking of a time when a young
girl came to me through winter’s snow and cold to plead for the life of
her father. Do you remember what she said when I told her that I could
not exchange a spy for him, valiant though the deeds of that father had
been? She said, ‘I know that thee must refuse me. Thee would be false to
thy trust were thee to do otherwise.’ Hath my little maiden whose answer
so warmed my heart with its patriotism that I have never forgotten it,
changed so that now she shields a spy? I cannot believe it.”
“Thee presses me so hard,” she cried wringing her hands. “Let me have a
little time, I entreat thee. It could not matter to let me have until
to-morrow. Just until to-morrow, Friend Washington.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. Her anguish was so apparent that none
could help being touched. That there was much behind it all was very
evident, and so presently he said:
“You shall have until to-morrow, Mistress Peggy. ’Tis against all
precedent, but for what you have done before I will grant your request.
But there will be no further delay.”
“Thank thee, sir,” said she weeping. “I will ask none.” She spoke
timidly after a moment. “What am I to do, sir? Thee will not wish me to
stay for dinner if I am under suspicion.”
“Yes,” he said. “Let all go on as before until the matter is unraveled.
Can you compose yourself sufficiently to wait upon Mrs. Washington? The
dinner hour hath come.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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