A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia by Amanda Minnie Douglas (e reader for manga .TXT) 📖

tell him his mother's heart is tender towards him and that no one can fill his place. Thou hast given me much joy. But I can see thou art not fitted for the grave life here, and if our ancestors crossed the sea that they might have liberty of belief, why should we not grant it to others?"

James Henry no longer insisted upon what he called his rights in his brother's child. She was too gay and worldly for his taste, which, where women were concerned, could have been comprised in the old advice "To avoid Papishers and learn to knit." And when he looked on the industry and thrift of Rachel his heart hardened toward his son for his blindness.

For Primrose went steadily now to Christ Church, but England would not send over a bishop while people were so contumacious, and so some rites were held in abeyance.

But she was very happy and growing tall rapidly, and Friend Henry turned her over altogether to Madam Wetherill, who after all was not forgotten by the fashionables, even if they did run after the Arnolds.

And in the autumn there were some changes, although the Continentals had not swept their enemies across the sea. Society Hill put on a brisk aspect, and gardens opened again where they sold beer and cakes, and young people chatted merrily, while older people gossiped. There were shops trying to turn out much-needed goods that gave the town an aspect of industry. Indeed employment was provided for the poor classes in putting streets in order. All manner of homespun cloth was made. Even Mrs. Washington had ordered that her spinning wheels at Mount Vernon should fly as briskly as if she were there, and sixteen were kept going all the time.

Franklin and John Adams were in France cementing the alliance that was so slow in doing its promised work. At home, political leaders were quarreling fiercely among themselves. Joseph Reed and Arnold were at swords' points. A charge of dishonesty and malpractice in office was preferred against Arnold before the Continental Congress, but, though convicted, he was sentenced to a reprimand only. He had been a brave soldier, and Washington, with a heart full of anxiety for other undertakings, unfortunately dealt leniently with him, but it made no appeal to better feelings or conduct, for he began almost at once his treasonable practices with the British, that were to bring about a lasting shame.

There were other troubles as well. The Quakers could not and would not serve in the army nor pay taxes for its support. Franklin had known how to gain by diplomacy what they would not openly concede, but they were unpopular with those in power, and the mob openly rejoiced when goods were levied upon. Indeed many of the poorer and plainer brethren had little sympathy when such articles as "a looking glass in wide gilt and mahogany frame, with ornamental corners" and "handsome walnut chairs deeply carven and with silken cushions" and "mahogany tea table with carved legs and crow feet" were sold for a quarter of their value. It shows that many of the Friends were not stinted in their household appointments, and must indeed have had sturdy consciences to part with their cherished belongings rather than pay away a little money in what was considered an unjust cause.

New York was full of gayety and dissipation under the British, as Philadelphia had been. And Primrose was sent for by her brother, who was now Colonel Nevitt and in a pleasant position.

"There is much to see and enjoy," he wrote. "And there are fine manners and customs that will fit you for London when we go. For it is most certain, by the looks of things, that the rebellion will soon be brought to an end. The winter in Philadelphia was a great mistake, though pleasant enough to me. And you must be now a pretty young woman that I should be proud to have. If Madam Wetherill feels that she is not young enough for gayety, I have some friends here who will be glad to take charge of a fair young girl, and I shall be most happy with my charming sister. There are parties coming almost every week, and I can find safe escort. Do not disappoint me."

"What wilt thou do?" asked Madam Wetherill. "Thou art no longer a little girl, Primrose, though it grieves me to say it. Patty scolds about lengthening thy gowns all the time, and Anabella is sure I will keep thee an old maid. Though between two stools she is like to come to the floor for aught I see. Her British lover never so much as wrote her a line, and young Matthews, that she made quite certain of, hath married Kitty Strong. She need not worry about thee, since thou hast nearly two years' grace behind her. But her mother was so foolishly hasty to have her married."

"But I want to stay a little girl," cried Primrose eagerly. "I hate a big hoop and a monstrous topknot that pulls my hair, and a bunch of feathers that makes one look like an Indian sachem."

She made such a pretty pouting mouth, like a rose half-blown, that madam laughed.

"And then one can run around with Patty and tease the boys who sell pink calamus buds, and buy 'Peppery pot, smoking hot.'" She was such a good mimic it sounded exactly like the venders.

"I am afraid I have spoiled thee. But it is thy brother whom we must consider. He may have some rights."

"What rights, indeed, to a rebel maiden who would hate the sight of so many red coats together?"

"Still thou dost love him a little. Surely he is thy nearest kin."

"I can never think whether I love him dearly or only a little. When I pull a daisy out it says only a little. And when I blew a puffy dandelion out to tell me where my true love dwelt, it went south instead of north."

"But the great city. I was there once, years ago. It hath many queer things and reminders of the old Dutch people who settled it. And it has a beautiful river and an island south of it, and a short way out to the ocean."

"As if we did not have our fine and noble Delaware that runs on and up past the Jerseys to the State of New York. And there is our Schuylkill with its peaceful shores and green and flowery banks, now that the British are away, and our beautiful Wissahickon. Nay, I want nothing beyond my own home town, and no one but you and the friends that come here. I will write to Phil and tell him that neither his tongue nor his pen can charm me. And he never says 'thou' latterly."

"But the young people here leave it off, I notice. And thou must not write saucily."

Primrose laughed and tossed her golden head.

She wrote to her brother and put in some rhymes, a fashion quite affected then, for many of the young ladies wrote sentimental and would-be satiric verses. Hannah Griffiths, who was cousin to Deborah Logan, had satirized the famous Mischianza, and there were songs for various occasions such as birthdays and weddings.

Primrose wrote also to Andrew Henry. It was difficult to get letters from the Federal soldiers unless some messenger came direct, but she guessed how much pleasure the bit of news would be to him. She rode out to the farm occasionally and took a message from Aunt Lois to Andrew. Uncle James was growing quite deaf and irritable in temper, but Aunt Lois softened perceptibly and was always glad to see Primrose.

Rachel had a new vexation that did not improve her temper. Chloe grumbled at the sharpness, but she was too old to think of another home. Faith was now a tall, thin girl, looking careworn and sallow.

"I must walk a little with thee even if I should get beaten for it afterward," she said in one of the visits, as she intercepted Primrose and Patty at the group of great sycamores that shut off the view of the road. "For I feel sometimes as if the strings of my heart would burst when there is no one to talk to but old Chloe, and Rachel watches us as a cat does a mouse."

"She would not beat thee, surely." Primrose's face was one indignant flame.

"She did when I was smaller, until one day Aunt Lois interfered. Now she slaps, and her hand is hard as a board; or she boxes my ears until bells ring in them. I know not what made her so cross at first, except that she tried to be sweet and pleasant to Andrew, and when he was gone all was different. Now Penn walks home from meeting with Clarissa Lane and finds excuses for going over there. But Rachel says he is needed here on the farm since uncle cannot work as he used, and that he shall neither go away to marry, nor bring a wife home here. They had a bitter quarrel one day. I was gathering sassafras and birch buds for her and they did not know I was there. And Rachel said if he married Clarissa, she would persuade uncle not to leave him any part of the farm. Ought not the farm belong to Andrew?"

Primrose shook her head doubtfully.

"If I were a man I would run away and fight too. I would find Andrew and march and fight beside him. Oh, Primrose, thou canst never know how good and sweet he was to me and what wise counsel he gave. And now I am so wretched!"

"Poor girl, poor Faith!" Primrose cried, deeply moved. "If you could come into town----"

"I can go nowhere, she says, until I am of age; if I did, that the constable could bring me back, or I could be put in jail. And that if I do not please her I shall have none of Uncle James' money."

"It is not honest to count on the money, and James Henry may live many years!" exclaimed Patty sharply.

"If I had it I should give it back to Andrew. I feel as if we had crowded him out of his home. No one speaks of him but Aunt Lois and old Chloe, and Rachel frowns at her. Oh, if I dared come to thee, I would be a servant, or anything! Oh, Primrose, God hast set thee in a blessed garden! Bend over and kiss me. And come again. It is like a bit of heaven to see thee."

Then Faith vanished, and the tears ran down the pink cheeks of the child.

"Oh, what can we do?" she sobbed.

"Nothing, dear," returned Patty, much moved, and feeling that some comfort was needed, even if it was only the sound of a human voice. "Friend Rachel hath grown hard through disappointment. Grace does not always wrap itself in a plain garb, and a red rose is sweet and pretty in its redness. There is much selfishness in the world under all colors, methinks, and when it is gray; it grows grayer by the wearing."


CHAPTER XVII.

MID WAR'S ALARMS.

Madam Wetherill sighed over the affair and was sorry to hear of the failing health of James Henry. But nothing could be done to ease up Faith's hard lines. She understood much more than she could explain to the innocent Primrose; more indeed than she cared to have her know at present about the emotions the human soul. For