“The camp, sir,” replied Peggy promptly. “My mother will be uneasy.”
“Then I will ride with you, my little maid,” cried he, swinging himself into the saddle. “This information proves beyond doubt that there is a spy somewhere among us, and steps should be taken at once for his apprehension. My dears, if I thought for one moment that harm would be offered you——”
“Go, go,” cried one of the daughters imploringly. “No greater harm will befall us than an attack of scarlet fever.”
“That is Susy’s favorite jest,” chuckled William Livingston. “She will have it that our belles are in more danger from the red coats of the British officers than from all the bullets the English possess.”
They had reached the end of the lane by this time, and turned into the turnpike just as a trooper rode up to them coming from Elizabethtown.
“Sir,” he said, saluting, “General Maxwell hath sent to ask concerning this matter of attack. Have you any further knowledge regarding it, and do you consider the information correct? A young girl, English she was, came in great haste to tell us of it and hath set forth at speed for Middlebrook to ask General Washington to send reinforcements, as the number of the attacking party is unknown.”
“’Tis marvelous,” ejaculated the governor. “That is just what should be done. That is a wonderful cousin of yours, Miss Peggy. Yes,” to the trooper, “I have no doubt but that the information is correct, though I know no further concerning the affair than that an attack is contemplated. Tell your general to be prepared. I am myself bound for the camp and will hasten the sending of reinforcements.”
The trooper saluted, wheeled, and left them. The ride to Middlebrook was a silent one. The governor seemed absorbed in thought, and Peggy was full of wonderment at the perplexity of Harriet’s actions. She had not wished her (Peggy) to warn the governor. She had tried to keep her from coming. And then—when she had thought her cousin well on toward the camp she had come after her and had given the warning herself. Why, why, why? Peggy asked herself over and over. Had she thought it a hoax at first, as she had said, and then upon reflection concluded that it was not?
She was glad that Harriet had changed about it, Peggy told herself, but how strangely it was happening! Just as though ’twas Harriet and not herself to whom the credit belonged. It was so different, she reflected, from the time when she had gone to General Putman with news of the spy, James Molesworth. Then she had been made much of by every one, and now——