A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia, Amanda Minnie Douglas [e novels to read txt] 📗

wider life and knowledge than my father thinks necessary. And we have two girls now to comfort my mother, and they are of the same faith. But I find there is a wide line of opinion even among Friends. And the coming struggle will make it greater still. The town hath done a daring thing to-day. Will the great and wise men sign the document?"

"I think all but a few. They are not certain of Mr. Dickinson, although he hath been writing so boldly. But Mr. Richard Penn advises that they all hang together, lest they may have to hang separately!" and she smiled.

Andrew Henry drew a long breath.

"But it hardly seems possible they can win. England can put such armies in the field."

"Yet I think we have shown that patriotism can make good soldiers. There will be much suffering and Heaven only can foresee the end. Still it is a glorious thing, and we shall strive hard for freedom."

"Thou art a patriot surely. The little girl must inherit some of thy blood, for she boldly declared herself a rebel."

"She is an odd, spirited child, with a good deal of her mother's charming manner. I have grown very fond of her, though I thought myself too old to take up new loves. Thou must come down to the farm sometime and see her."

"That I will gladly," was the quick reply.

"And thou must study this matter thou hast heard to-day. It is a great thing to make a country, and a trust above all others to keep it intact. And, though thy people are averse to fighting, I see some of them have ranged themselves already on the side of liberty and the colonies."

"I have a great interest----" Then he paused and flushed. "But it grows late, and I must bid thee farewell. Give my respects to the little girl and say I do not forget her."

Every effort was now made to strengthen the defenses, and a bounty was issued for volunteers. Gun-boats were ordered for the river front and the manufacture of gunpowder was hurried along. There was much watchfulness over those suspected of Toryism, or caught carrying away stores. Occasionally one saw a cart packed with Tories, seated backward and being driven along to the tune of the Rogue's March, and jeered by the populace.

Late in the autumn they buried Lois Henry's mother. James Henry gave up more of the severe work and going about to the young men. Penn Morgan was large and strong, and grown very fond of his uncle in an admiring fashion. Andrew puzzled him oftentimes.

Pinches were beginning to be felt and a great part of the commerce languished. Salt, one of the importations, became very scarce. Stores and shops were dull enough, and men hung about the streets with nothing to do.

In November came the news of Howe's successful march and the taking of Fort Washington. Then he swept onward, dismaying the towns, and when he reached Trenton he issued a proclamation that won over many who still hoped in their hearts that by some miracle the colonists would win.

But Philadelphia celebrated the anniversary of her heroic Declaration of Independence with much firing of guns all day and a great civic banquet in the evening. The streets wore quite a holiday aspect. Many people came in from the farms and residences at a distance, and flags, made after the pattern that Betsy Ross had designed for the army when General Washington went to Boston, were shown in some houses.

There was also a smashing of Quaker windows, and much hooting at the peace men, who were bidden to come out of the shelter of their broadbrims.

A new oath of allegiance had been exacted from the citizens of the whole State that created great consternation among the Friends. Many now openly espoused the cause of freedom, being convinced it was a duty, and their expulsion from the ranks followed. Even among the women there were enthusiastic souls who gave aid and comfort in the years of trial that were to follow.

James Henry had ranged himself strongly on the peace side. Indeed the household were a unit with the exception of Andrew, who held his temper bravely when the talk was of the condemnatory order.

There had been no open rupture on the little girl's account. In a way James Henry resigned some of his powers, though he kept the trusteeship, and was sharp to see to the accounting of money matters. Madam Wetherill and Primrose made journeys to the Quaker farmhouse, and the Henrys were cordially invited to the city to test the Wetherill hospitality.

Primrose had listened to Andrew's persuasion, and in the summer gone for several days. How queer it all seemed to her! The plain, homely rooms, the absence of the many little courtesies to which she had become accustomed, the routine of work that left no leisure for reading or enjoyment. For already in the city there was a great deal of intelligence.

She had grown tall, but was very slim and full of grace in every movement. Her hair still held its sunny tint, and even if combed as straight as possible, soon fell into waves and curling tendrils, and her complexion was radiant in pearl and rose.

Rachel was quite a young woman, with a thin, muslin Quaker cap over her brown hair, and not the slightest attempt at ornament; a great worker and very thrifty in her methods. In her opinion idleness was a sin. Faith had grown tall, but was not as robust.

Primrose was like a sudden sunbeam in the old house. Her merry laugh rippled everywhere. As of old, every animal on the place made friends with her. And though Uncle James looked stern and sour at times, she would not heed his frowns.

Not only Andrew, but Penn, acknowledged her witching sway. She could ride finely now on horseback or with a pillion, and the cunning little beauty persuaded one or the other to take her out on numerous excursions.

"One could envy thee heartily," declared Faith. "For when Rachel and I desire any recreation or to go of some errand, there are a thousand excuses. What coaxing art hast thou? And how dost thou come by so much prettiness? Was it on thy mother's side?"

"Am I so pretty?" She laughed in a gay, amused fashion. "Sometimes Patty says I shall grow old and yellow and wrinkled, but though Aunt Wetherill's hair is snowy-white, and there are tiny marks and creases in her skin, she is not yellow nor cross, and looks like the most beautiful of queens in her brocades and satins."

"But what is a queen if there are no thrones here in America?"

"Oh, how dull thou art! It is because we call anyone a queen who is a beautiful and dignified woman, and can receive with graciousness, and hold a little court about her."

"But the fine clothes are vain and wicked. And--and plaiting of the hair, and the much pleasuring--and the giddy talk----"

The small Quakeress paused with a sort of longing and envy that she could think of no more sins.

"But my hair is not plaited. I think the good God curled it just as he makes the pretty vine creep up and twine about. And He makes a gay, beautiful world, where birds go flying and dazzle the air with their bright colors. Dost thou know the firebird, with his coat of red, and the yellow finches and the bluebirds? The little brown wren greets them in her pert way, and I dare say takes pleasure in them. And how many flowers you find in the woods and the meadows."

"I never go for flowers. It is a sinful waste of time, and we have no use for them, since they do but litter everything. And thou wilt some day be called to account for these idle, frivolous moments."

"I do not know. I think God means us to be happy. And I cannot help being gay and pleased with all the things He has made. It is very naughty and unkind to despise them."

Faith knew in her heart there were many things she would be glad to have, and that she hated to sit in the house and spin and sew, when Primrose was roaming around with Penn and Andrew, and riding on the hay cart amid the fragrant dried grass.

"Andrew, wilt thou always be a Quaker?" Primrose asked one evening when she found him sitting under the tree where poor old grandmother had spent so many of her days.

"Always? Why, I suppose so. Children generally follow in the footsteps of their fathers."

"Is that because you are a man?"

"I like _thou_ better," smiling and putting his arm about her.

"But I am only half a Quaker. Do you think my father truly meant me to be? There is a fine picture of him at Mr. Northfield's that is said to be worth a great deal of money, and was made in England by a great man, and is sometime to go over again. Did you know I had a brother, Andrew?"

"Yes."

"It seems very unreal. A letter came one day from him, and he asked if there were any other children alive. A brother! How strange it sounds! Why, it would be like Penn and Faith."

"I hope he may never want thee," with a little hug that made her head droop on his shoulder.

"Oh, no; and if he does, he must come here. I should be afraid of the great ocean that it takes days and days to cross. And I might be drowned," plaintively.

"Then thou shalt never cross it."

"Thou wilt not let him take me away? Though I think Aunt Wetherill would not consent."

"Nay, I would fight for thee."

"Then thou must fight for the country. It is _my_ country."

"If any need comes in thy behalf I will fight," he returned solemnly.

"And thou wilt put on some fine soldier clothes. The men all look so handsome in their blue coats and buff breeches, and the hats turned up in a three-cornered way."

She only saw the glory in it. He hoped she might never know the other side.

"What art thou studying about so gravely?" when Primrose lapsed into silence and let her small white hand lie in his brown one.

"I was thinking. Penn is here, and does your father need two sons? Aunt Wetherill said, one day, that you were wasted on the farm, and that some of the generals ought to have you for your cool clear head, and your strength, and oh! I do not remember what else. And if you would come into town----"

"If thou were older, Primrose, thou couldst tempt a man to his undoing. But thou art a sweet, simple child. And when my country needs me she will not ask about my faith. Already there is more than one Quaker soldier in her ranks."

"Primrose!" Rachel had been sitting on the old stone step until there seemed a curious fire kindled all through her body at the sight of the golden head on the broad shoulder. "Primrose, come in. The dew is falling."

"There is no dew here under the tree," returned Andrew.

"It is high bedtime. Faith is going. Come!"--peremptorily.

There were times when Primrose was fond of teasing Rachel, but she rose now. When she had gone a step or two she turned around for a kiss.