“No.” Jack half moaned, “they are behind entrenchments at Prospect Hill. They have been there all Summer, but Deb, George Washington has been made General of the army, and he’s coming to get our men out!”
“George Washington?” cried Debby, “why Mrs. Lane says he is the worst man she knows. I heard her tell Mistress Knowles.”
Jack laughed, “Wait, lass, he’ll drive the British before him. Elder Morris has had a letter from Abner Andrews. ’Twas a wonderful letter. I listened at the door to hear it read when they thought I was feeding the cattle.”
“Why, Jack.” Debby interrupted, “Abner Andrews went away when father went; does he—speak—of—father?” The question came slowly, it seemed to mean life or death to her. In the twilight Debby saw the excitement and flush die from Jack’s face.
“Tell me everything, Jack Martin,” she groaned, “don’t you hide a single thing.”
“He was in Abner’s regiment,” whispered Jack. “He was wounded at Lexington, but not much. He doesn’t drink now, Deb, and he thinks of you a lot. Old Morris wasn’t going to let you know for he is afraid of Mrs. Lane; and there was something in the letter about wishing he’d told you the rest of a story for fear something might happen to him.”
“Did he?” Debby braced herself against the tree, and in the dusk Jack, and all familiar things were blotted out.
“Did—he—say—that? And—he—thinks—of—me—and he does not—drink—any—more? Oh! father!”
The year of suppression and heartache rolled away. From the almost forgotten past came the words: “Stay with father, Debby, like a good little maid.”
Had she been a boy nothing would have kept her from following, like a dog, at his heels. Drunk or sober she would have stayed with father. Out somewhere, alone and wounded, he was thinking of her, and trying to be better for her sake.
And she? why she was becoming a bad girl; a girl who was whipped and half starved at times, yet never growing better.
Should being a girl keep her longer from the only one who loved her and could make her happy? No, a thousand times no!
“Jack!” she sobbed, her eyes blazing, “I am going to father! I am going to be a drummer boy myself! See to it that you keep my secret. If you tell, and I am brought back, I’ll, I’ll—but you won’t tell Jack, I know you won’t, not if they should drag your tongue out!”