CHAPTER X.

DEBBY COMES INTO HER OWN AT LAST.

Never while life lasted did Debby forget how she felt, when weak from recent illness and present fear, she was shown into the presence of Washington.

She wore—for the last time—her continental uniform. It was mud stained, blood stained and ragged, but even so it was dear to her heart.

In her hand she bore Doctor Bell’s letter. The contents she did not know, but she trusted the man who had befriended her—and she was ready to take the consequences of her wrong act. Tremblingly she raised her eyes to the calm, clear ones searchingly gazing into her face.

“You have been ill, my boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your bravery is greater than your strength. Before I tell you what I wish to do for you in return for your services, I will read the message you bring. In the meantime go outside, my servant will give you wine.”

Thankful for this respite, Debby stumbled from the room. The minutes seemed hours, and the wine choked her; at last the summons came. With down cast head she entered the room to hear her doom.

Washington was standing with a folded paper in his hand.

“Here is your honorable discharge from the army,” he said, and something in the low voice, caused Debby to look up. A tear was glistening in the great man’s eyes; “I have added to it a sum which will enable you to make a start in life. For your bravery I honor you, for your service your country thanks you, and my heartfelt wish for you is that God may bless you with sons as noble as their mother. May heaven’s blessing go with you. Farewell my child.”

It was over, and with a heart bursting with gratitude and worship poor lonely Debby Mason turned away to begin life.

* * * * *

A week later in the home of Doctor Bell’s mother a tall, slim girl with short curls of brown, framing in a strong earnest face, stood listening to a dear, prim little Quaker woman, who was divulging a wonderful plan.

“Now thee looks sweet and womanly, Deborah. Thy locks will grow and thee must try to brush out some of the curl.”

“Oh! mother,” laughed her son coming in the room, “can you not spare the curl?”

“Nay, son, Deborah will be a happier woman, if her looks are not so unusual. And in a fortnight thee and I will go to thy people in England, the Spirit tells me that there thee will find peace and rest.”

“But I will come back to my own land, my own dear country!” Debby’s clear voice had not been toned down as much as her appearance; “I will come back to America. What was all the good of—of my suffering—and fighting—if I go away just as the glory is beginning?”

“Three cheers!” cried the doctor.

“Deborah, my son,” the mother broke in.

“Well, Deborah, then, you shall see your people and choose for yourself, and—and—God bless you!”

Debby saw her people—sturdy wealthy folk they were, who offered her a home and place where her mother as a girl lived and loved.

And she, in return, very tenderly told to the widowed mother of the boy who had died afar, the story of bravery and tragedy.

“He was your own cousin, child, and you took his life!” The words rang shrilly through the quiet room as the tale ended.

“He tried to take mine. He wounded me sorely twice.” Even in her grief poor Debby tried to defend herself as she had always done in her honest fashion; “and he—took—my father from—me!”

The black robed figure straightened at the words and the empty arms outstretched to the shrinking girl:

“Oh! my child! my poor child! do not look at me like that! So looked your mother when we turned her from her home. Ah! lass, had I but clung to her I might have been spared all this!”

The arms were no longer empty. Hungry, starving Debby rushed to fill her mother’s place!

“There! there! little maid, do not weep so sadly. We will go to this new land together, just you and I, and begin once again.” Their tears were falling more gently now. “Try to love me, dear brave child, for I am very lonely!”

Try to love her! Why it seemed to Debby as if she had lived but for this blessed chance.

So they traveled to the land of Debby’s birth, and in a quaint old house on the outskirts of Philadelphia, they began life just as the troublous war ended and the young republic reared its proud head. And into that happy home as soon as they could summon him, came that rascal Jack Martin, and he found there a welcome so loving and true that he disappointed all those who expected only evil of him and became gentleman Jack, and a good foster son to the kindly woman who reigned so nobly o’er his life.

And by and by, when Deborah’s face and form had rounded into perfect maidenly beauty, and the rich brown hair had grown to comely length and waviness, came Doctor Bell to tell his love and doubts.

“I need your help Deborah,” he said humbly, “I love a woman true and sweet, but I fear her. A warrior maid is she, dauntless on the field of battle, and braver than any other whom I know. Can I hope that in the narrow limit of a home her free spirit would find space enough?”

There were tears in Deborah’s eyes as she listened.

“In a chest in the attic,” she whispered softly, “is a tattered suit, an old drum, and an army discharge. I know a maid, who, when her blood runs hotly, goes and kneels beside that chest. When she sees the drum, her hearts throbs until it almost chokes her. When she sees the discharge she bows her head in proud memory of one most truly to be revered and honored—but when she sees the blood stained suit her strength goes from her, and she only remembers one who led her from dark to light, from danger to safety.”

“Deborah! is my home, then, wide enough for my sweet soldier maid?”

“Aye, ’tis as wide as life, as deep as love, and as high as heaven!”

So hand in hand they went to tell their story to loving waiting hearts.

Transcriber’s note:

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.

2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.

3. The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.