A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia - Amanda Minnie Douglas (freda ebook reader TXT) 📗

rest. So I have put my pride in my pocket as a sinful thing, and come to thee. Perhaps thou mayest have some influence over him. Wilt thou try to persuade him?"

Primrose looked down on the floor as she laced her slim hands together.

"I will tell thee the whole story. He was to marry me. Aunt Lois wished it and said I was a daughter after her own heart. I should have cared for them as if I had been an own child. Uncle James had spoken to him and he had promised to consider. At the meeting it had been talked of as most proper and suitable. I had not much money, for our small farm hath to be divided among three. But Uncle James thought a good wife better than wealth."

Primrose stared in blank amazement. Had not Andrew said there was a condition he could not fulfill? Was it this?

"I should have made him a good wife and roused him out of that dreaminess he allowed to hang about him. And because it was to be so, I plead with Uncle James until he relented. He hath promised me to take him back----"

"But he will not leave the army until they have driven the English across the seas again. And if thou couldst see him so straight and tall and proud, holding up his head as he never did before! And all his heart is in it."

"But the Lord made him a son and not a soldier. It is against our belief. We have come out from the world, and are not to fight its sinful battles. He hath a higher duty. Thou hast a smooth and persuasive tongue, and if thou wouldst use it to restore peace between a sad father and wayward son, and assure him he hath only to come back and fulfill his promise and all will be peace--if thou carest to do a good work, this will be one."

Rachel Morgan rose, and looked so steadily, so sternly at Primrose Henry that she felt a shrinking all over her.

"Thou wilt do this," she said. "It seems as if thou hadst cared a little for Aunt Lois and thy dead father's brother, and if thou hast any love thou wilt try to restore peace."

"I will tell him what thou sayest," in a weak tone as if she was hardly persuaded.

Rachel caught her hand, which was soft as a rose leaf, and wrung it in hers until she could have cried with pain.

"Nay, not in that cold way. Thou hast the eyes and the tongue to move whomever thou wilt, and he set strange store by thee. Men often yield to a honeyed voice. Coax him, convince him it is his duty. Otherwise their sorrow and, perhaps, their death may be on his hands, and neither wilt thou be altogether free. That was my errand and the Lord gave me strength to come, though women do not generally plead for their lovers."

"I will try," Primrose said, much moved.

But she sat by herself after Rachel had left her, thinking the matter over with a curious protest that she did not understand. Why should she shrink from his marrying Rachel? She had seen many lovers through the winter, and Anabella had poured into her ears a great deal of foolish-sounding flattery, and delight on her part, that had caused Primrose much wonder. And now her gay captain had followed the fortunes of Sir Henry Clinton, and she was in despair, though he had promised to return.

But she asked Madam Wetherill what she ought to do. The lady gave an odd little smile.

"You must tell him, since you have consented. But it will not change his intentions. His enlisting was no sudden notion, if he was forced into it by circumstances. I wonder at Mistress Rachel making this appeal."

"Do you think he ought to marry her?" Primrose asked timidly.

"That is a question for him to answer, my child."

But Madam Wetherill knew if he had been in love with Rachel he would have made some overtures himself.

Primrose studied the subject within her heart and was quite grave over it. For two days they did not see him and on the third a messenger came with a note.

The permission to join Washington had arrived suddenly and they were to march at once. It was the present plan of the Commander in Chief to invest New York and pen up the British there. "I would rather fight than see the gayety of the last winter repeated," Andrew wrote. "And I am much afraid our officers have not learned wisdom by the experience of their enemies. For surely so much pleasure will demoralize them. And though I am sorry not to see thee, partings are sad at the best, and I have a strong belief that I shall return well and sound. Dear Primrose, if so be thou could get word to my mother without too great an effort, tell her I keep her in my heart day and night. She will know it was not possible for me to accede to my father's request, pleasant as it might have been for others. I send him a son's respect, whether he considers me in the light of a son or no, and am sorry that at the last I should have brought trouble and suspicion upon them. It is my present hope that Penn will be a good son to them. I wish little Faith could have some of thy joy, for I am afraid it is a dreary life for the child. Heaven be watchful of thee, little Primrose."

It was true that several companies were not needed for the city's protection, and were dispatched in the hasty mood that not infrequently ruled General Arnold.

And now new defenses were erected for the city, and there was a general clearing up. The barricade around the old Treaty Elm was taken down, the squares were freed from rubbish and the grass restored, the houses repaired and new ones planned. True, landlords groaned about unpaid rents, and money-lenders almost wept over the sums the British had despoiled them of. The country estates were in a sad plight, many of them, but others had escaped.

Madam Wetherill thanked Heaven that it was no worse with her. Mount Pleasant was a scene of great gayety during the summer, and the Arnolds and the Shippens held grand court, almost like royalty. She had much to do minding her estate and looking out for some of her southern interests, and took less heed to gay parties.

Twice a year the trustees met to consider the estate of Mistress Primrose Henry. Just before this Madam Wetherill took her charge over to the old Quaker farm, that was so peaceful and thrifty one would hardly dream there had been war in the land. Primrose had sent a message to Rachel Morgan to explain why she had not undertaken her trust.

Aunt Lois was rather feeble, but Rachel seemed to carry the house on her shoulders, and was noticeably sharp with the men and Chloe, who was growing old as well as her mistress. Certainly she looked after all things in a thrifty fashion that had already brought a crease between her eyes, young as she was.

Faith was thin and fearful-looking, as if she expected some chiding in nearly everything, and it rarely missed coming. For Rachel had been sorely disappointed in her marriage plans, and liked to make others suffer for her unhappiness.

Primrose was like a butterfly in the plain old house, and seemed to make a swift dazzle. Aunt Lois warmed curiously toward her, feeling as if the sun was shining after a spell of lowering weather.

She rose from her chair and laid aside her knitting.

"Thee used to love the chickens so much," she said gently. "We have some pretty ones. While thy aunt talks business let us get out and see them. I sit in doors so much thinking, and though I try not to question the will of Providence, life does not seem quite as it used. It may be that I am getting old. Poor mother used to sit under the tree yonder, but when it comes my time, Faith will be too womanly and too busy to look after me, and perhaps married."

They walked down the well-trodden path. There were chicken mothers in little coops, and yellow, downy balls, others with tiny wings and patches of feathers here and there.

"Thou didst see Andrew before he went away?"

The mother's eyes had a soft, wistful, far-off look.

"Yes. And a lovely letter that I have read again and again. Oh, why did I not bring it--but indeed I did not know"--pausing in a tone that indicated what might be meant.

"A mother is a mother always. A father may feel hard when his plans are traversed. Tell me about my son; for I cannot shut my heart upon him."

"He makes a handsome soldier and a good one. He will have a large heart and a wise head."

"But a soldier! And to kill his fellow-creatures. We are to live in peace."

"But I was to say when I could, that he kept thee in his heart day and night, and that he would never forget thee. Dear Aunt Lois, he is brave and good and tender of soul, and I know God loves him for his work to the poor and needy last winter."

"I have wondered many times how he escaped. We only knew that he was safe."

"Someone betrayed him. He had taken great care. Wilt thou hear how he left the town?"

"Dost thou know?" raising her soft eyes.

Primrose told gleefully how they had disguised him and seen him safe on the road where he was not likely to meet the soldiery.

"And thou didst do this for him, dear child!"

She took the soft hands in hers, that were soft again now that she did little coarse labor.

"It was not much to do, surely. And it was rare fun when the guards passed us."

"I owe much to thee and Madam Wetherill. And did he speak of any return?"

"Nay, his is a soldier's life."

"I sometimes think it is not wisdom to plan children's lives. Perhaps if we had let him be," and she gave a gentle sigh. "But we had hopes he would fancy Rachel, and she somehow had set her heart upon it. He seemed not inclined to marry, and so we should have waited until the spirit guided him. Child, I thank thee for thy care and interest in him. We should have been glad if thou couldst have kept thy father's faith and been content to stay here, but I can see thou didst need a larger life. Perhaps we narrow ours too much. It may not always be the Lord's will as we think. I have strange ideas as I sit and knit or sew. And I remember that good Mr. Penn and his wife took much pleasure of a kind we hardly approve of now. It is hard to tell which is right."

"Dear Aunt Lois, whatever leads people to be sweet and joyful and thankful and kind to all who suffer cannot be far wrong. And were there no good men before the time of Mr. Fox and Mr. Penn?"

"Thou wert always finding prettiness of speech and ways that have a charm in them. And if thou shouldst send word to Andrew at any time,