Chapter III: An Old Time Advertisement

"Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad
For plunder; much solicitous how best
He may compensate for a day of sloth,
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong."

--"The Task," Cowper.

It was Thursday morning, and Mrs. Owen and Peggy had been very busy bringing the house and grounds into something like order. Now, however, both mother and daughter were surveying ruefully a pile of garments that constituted the remains of their depleted wardrobes. Presently the lady laid down a gray gown of tabby silk with a sigh.

"There is no help for it, my daughter. Thee must have a new frock. I see not how thou art to go to General Arnold's tea otherwise."

"Oh!" breathed Peggy a look of pleasure irradiating her face. Then as a thought came to her: "But are not goods very high, mother? How can we afford it?"

"We must, my child. Thou hast had no new frocks since Lexington, and 'tis quite time for others."

"But neither hast thou, mother. Does thee not remember that we covenanted together that whatever we had to spend on clothes should be given for garments for the soldiers? Now if I have a new gown, thee must also."

"We will see, Peggy. But a gown thee must have. We will go to the mercer's to-day; but stay! Did not Sally speak of coming for thee to go to see a tree of some sort? That will delay us for another day."

"How thee remembers, mother! She did, and 'tis nine of the clock now. If she is coming 'tis time she were here. Does thee not hear horses, mother? Perhaps that is she now."

She ran to the window just in time to see a party of youths and maidens draw rein before the door. Sally Evans dismounted and ran quickly into the dwelling.

"Art ready, Peggy?" she cried. "We are going now to see the aloe tree."

"What aloe tree is it, Sally?" queried Peggy. "I have lived in Philadelphia all my life, yet never before did I ever hear of one."

"'Tis because it hath only of late become remarkable," answered Sally. "Mr. Dunlap hath an account of it in the last 'Packet.' This is the only one in the whole state, and every one is going to see it."

"But I don't understand, Sally. Why should every one go? How is it remarkable?"

"Oh, Peggy! Peggy! That comes from staying on a farm and not reading the papers. Know then," assuming a didactic tone, "that the morning after the arrival of the French Ambassador this tree shot forth its spire, which it never does but once in the course of its existence, and in some climates not less than a hundred years. This one has been planted about forty-five years in the neighborhood of this city, and heretofore has produced every year four leaves, but this spring early it spread forth thirteen. And the spire," concluded Sally impressively, "is thirteen inches round, and hath grown thirteen feet in thirteen days."

"But that is marvelous!" exclaimed the amazed Peggy.

"Is 't not? 'Tis regarded as a wonderful omen anent the French alliance and the thirteen states. Now do get ready, Peggy. Have Tom to bring Star around at once. The others are waiting."

"Shall I wear a loo-mask or a vizard, mother?" questioned Peggy, giving an anxious glance at her reflection in the mirror.

"The loo-mask, Peggy. 'Tis easier held in place. Not thy gray duffle riding frock, child. 'Tis o'er warm for that. Methinks that a safeguard petticoat over the gown that thee has on with a short camlet cloak will do nicely. I will tell Tom to bring Star around for thee."

"Sally, what does thee think? I am to have a new frock for General Arnold's tea," confided Peggy as her mother left the room. "I did not dream that we could spare money for furbelows, but mother insists that I shall have it."

"Oh, but that is _charmante_!" exclaimed Sally. "Would that my mother thought likewise, but I fear me that I shall have to wear the same muslin frock that I've been wearing. Hey day! Thee is a fortunate girl, Peggy."

"Am I not?" said Peggy gaily. "I have had no new one for so long that it quite upsets me. I think of nothing else, and long for the time to come to choose it."

"Yes; but do hurry now," cried Sally impatiently. "Thou art sufficiently smart for a country lass."

"Thee is saucy, Sally," answered Peggy giving her a playful push. "Don't call me a country girl. Thou art not so citified."

"Well, I haven't spent a whole year on a farm," retorted Sally. "Peggy, if thee gives another stroke to thy hair thy cap will slip off. 'Tis as smooth as satin now."

"There! I am ready at last," declared Peggy adjusting her riding mask. "Oh, Sally, 'tis so good to be home again!"

"And 'tis so good to have thee, Peggy," returned her friend. "Nothing is the same without thee. Why, when the city was under Sir William Howe----"

"Something hath happened," interrupted Peggy hastily, bending her head to listen. "Mother is calling, and she seems upset. Come, Sally."

They hurried out of the room, and went quickly to the eastern piazza where Mrs. Owen and Tom, the groom, stood.

"What is it, mother?" asked Peggy noting their disturbed looks.

"Peggy," said her mother going to her, "thee must be very brave, my child. Star is gone. She hath been stolen from the stable."

"Star! My pony stolen!" cried the girl as though unable to believe her ears. "My pony! Oh, mother, it can't be true!"

"I fear that it is only too true," answered the lady sorrowfully.

"But stolen? Who would steal Star? Tom,"--turning quickly to the negro groom,--"when did thee see her last? Didn't thee feed her this morning?

"No'm; I ain't seed her dis mo'nin'," answered Tom who seemed stupefied by the occurrence. "I fed her las' night, Miss Peggy, but when I kum out dis mo'nin' she wuz gone. De back doah wuz open, an' I know'd she wuz stole, kase I fas'n'd dat doah my own sef las' night."

"Oh, but she can't be," cried Peggy with a sob. "Maybe she has just strayed away. Has thee looked in the garden, Tom? Or through the orchard?"

"I hab looked ebberwhar, Miss Peggy," declared the black with dignity. "Torm warn't gwine ter take any chances ob not seein' dat are mare when she de onlyest piece ob hoss-flesh dat we has dat mounts ter a row ob pins. No'm; she stole. Dat's all dere is to it."

"Peggy, Peggy!" called Robert Dale who, grown tired of waiting, had come in search of the girls. "What keeps you so long?"

"Oh, Robert!" wailed Peggy bursting into tears. "My horse is stolen! My pretty, pretty pony that father gave me!"

"Star stolen?" cried the youth aghast. Tom told his story again.

"And the door was fastened last night, you say? How about the door into the yard, Tom?"

"I lock hit wid a padlock," declared Tom. "Dey wuz both fasten'd, Marster Dale. 'Clare ter goodness dey wuz! I did it my own sef. I fastens de inside doah on de inside, an' de outside one on de outside. De front one wuz locked dis mo'nin', but de back one wuz wide open."

"Then some one must have been hiding inside," declared Robert. "I will take a look through the barn."

With Sally's arm about her, Peggy and her friend followed the youth to the stables. The lad mounted the ladder that led to the mow, and presently called down excitedly:

"There hath been some one here of a truth. Here is a place where he hath lain concealed in the straw, and the remnants of food that hath been eaten. 'Tis all as plain as day!"

"But Star?" questioned Peggy with quivering lips as Robert descended the ladder and stood once more beside them.

"We'll do everything we can to find her, Peggy," answered the boy as cheerfully as he could. "Now let us tell the others. They will be wondering what the matter is."

"Oh, Peggy, what will you do for a horse to go with us?" cried Betty Williams as the party of young people heard the news.

"She may take mine," suggested Robert. "I will stay here to see what can be done about Star."

"That is good of thee," said Peggy, wiping her eyes. "Do thou, Sally, and all the others go on as planned. If Robert will stay to do whatever can be done there is no need of any one else. 'Twould be mean to spoil thy pleasuring just for my sake."

And so, despite their protests the young people were sent on, and Robert turned to Peggy.

"Weep no more," he entreated, "but give me your aid in writing an advertisement. This we will put in 'The Packet,' as that paper will appear before 'The Gazette,' and that may bring some result. That will be the best thing to do, will it not, Madam Owen?"

"I think so, Robert. And offer a reward also. It may meet the eye of the person who took the mare and induce him to return her. I like not to think of any taking her, though. Philadelphia is changed indeed."

"It is, madam. Naught is safe though General Arnold strives to enforce strict military rule. War doth indeed cause sad havoc with the morals of people. How much shall the reward be?"

"One hundred dollars," answered the lady, after a moment's calculation. "What a help thou art."

"'Tis a pleasure," returned he gallantly. "Beside, is not your husband in the field while we who dally here have naught to do? 'Tis good to have something beside pleasuring to divert the mind. And the advertisement? 'Tis highly fashionable to have it writ in verse. I like it not, but anything in the mode commands more attention. If you will help me, Peggy, perhaps I can compass it, though straight prose is more to my liking."

So, drying her eyes, Peggy brought forth inkhorn and quills, and the two evolved the following advertisement, which followed the fashion of the day:

ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD!

Last night was stole away from me
A likely jet-black mare was she
Just four years old this month or nigh,
About fourteen and half hands high;
She's in good order and doth trot,
And paceth some, I'm sure of that;
Is wondrous pretty; a small star
In her forehead there doth appear;
Her tail was waved three days ago
Just like her mane, you'll find it so;
Above her eyes, if you come near,
She's very hollow, that is clear;
She has new fore shoes on, this I know--
I had her shod a week ago.
The above reward it will be sure
To any person that secures
Said thief and mare, that I may see
My mare again restor'd to me.
Or Fifty Dollars for the mare,
If the thief should happen to get clear;
All traveling charges if brought home
Upon the nail I will pay down.

"There!" declared Robert Dale when the two had completed their labor. "There will be no more elegant effusion in the paper. 'Tis finely writ and to the point. I'll take it at once to Mr. Dunlap, so that he may put it into Saturday's 'Packet.' If that doesn't fetch your mare back, Peggy, I don't know what will."