A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia Part 42

"When I am quite strong I am coming around to Madam Wetherill's for half a day."

She blushed and nodded. He was very tired and turned over in his chair, and in his half sleepiness could still see Primrose Henry.

The news was true enough. And though the Earl of Cornwallis received back his sword, the twenty-eight battle flags were delivered to the Americans, with all the other trophies.

Congress a.s.sembled and Secretary Thompson read the cheering news. Bells were rung, and it was such a gala day as the city had never seen.

Impromptu processions thronged the streets, salutes were fired, and far into the night rockets were sent up. The little old house in Arch Street where Betsy Ross lived, who had made the first flag with the thirteen stars, that could wave proudly over the other twenty-eight captured ones, had her house illuminated by enthusiastic citizens.

Hundreds of Tories accepted the offer of pardon. Clinton reached the Chesapeake too late for any a.s.sistance and returned disheartened and dismayed, for it was felt that this was indeed a signal victory, and the renown of English arms at an end.

The troops were not disbanded for more than a year afterward, but many of the soldiers and officers were furloughed, and it was announced that Washington would be in Philadelphia shortly, so every preparation was made to receive the great commander.

Primrose had a tardy note from her brother that brought tears to her eyes and much contrition of spirit.

His wound had been troublesome, but never very serious. Then a fever had set in. For weeks he could not decide what to do. Being a paroled prisoner, he had no right to take up arms. He was beginning to be very much discouraged as to the outcome of the war. Whether to go back to England or not was the question he studied without arriving at any decision.

There had been a second heir born to his great-uncle, so there was little likelihood of his succeeding to the estate. Whether they were of the true Nevitt blood, considering the low ebb of morals and the many temptations of court life for a gay young wife, he sometimes doubted, but he had to accept the fact. His uncle had given him a handsome income at first, but he could see now that it was paid at longer intervals and with much pleading of hard times. Indeed, from these very complaints of exorbitant taxes, he gleaned that the war was becoming more unpopular at home.

And now had come this crushing defeat. What should he do? A return to England did not look inviting. The dearest tie on earth was in Philadelphia. And that was his home, his father's home. Sometimes he half desired to go there and begin a new life.

"I long for you greatly, little Primrose," he wrote. "I seem like a boat with no rudder, that is adrift on an ocean. Do you think good Madam Wetherill, who has been so much to you, would let you ask a guest for a few days? A Henry who has dared to lift his hand against the country of his birth, and regrets it now in his better understanding of events?

For, if England had listened to her wisest counselors, the war had never been. I am ill and discouraged, and have a weak longing for a little love from my dear rebel sister, a rebel no longer, but a victor. Will she be generous? And then I will decide upon what I must do, for I cannot waste any more of life."

"Oh, dear aunt, read it, for I could not without crying. Dear Phil! What shall I do?" and she raised her tear-wet face.

"Why, ask him here, of course," smilingly. "I am not an ogre, and, being victors, we can afford to be generous. It will be a new amus.e.m.e.nt for thee, and keep thee from getting dull!"

"Dull?" Then she threw her arms about the elder's neck and kissed her many times.

"Child, thou wilt make me almost as silly as thyself. In my day a maiden stood with downcast eyes and made her simple courtesy for favors, and thou comest like a whirlwind. Sure, there is not a drop of Quaker blood in thy veins, thou art so fond of kissing. Thou art Bessy Wardour all over."

"See, madam--dost thou like me better this way?"

She stood before her in great timidity with clasped hands and eyes down to the ground. And she was so irresistible that Madam Wetherill caught her in her arms.

"I am quite as bad as thou," she declared. "We are a couple of silly children together. If thou should ever marry----"

"But I shall not marry. I shall be gay and frisky all my first years; then I shall take to some solid employment, perhaps write a volume of letters or chatty journal and say sharp things about my neighbors, wear a high cap and spectacles, and keep a cat who will scratch every guest.

There, is it not a delightful picture?"

"Go and write thy letters, saucy girl. All the men will fear thy tongue, that is hung so it swings both ways."

"Like the bells on the old woman's fingers and toes, 'It makes music wherever I go.' Is not that a pretty compliment? Polly Wharton's brother gave it to me. Ah, if my brother had been like that!"

"Do not say hard or naughty things to him, moppet. What is past is past."

Primrose Henry's brother was greatly moved by some traces of tears he found in the epistle, and he was so hungering for the comforts of a little affection that he started at once.

She was much troubled now about her cousin's return. For Friend Henry had fallen into a strange way and the doctor said he would never be any better. The fall had numbed his spine and gradually affected his limbs.

He gave up going out, and could hardly hobble about the two rooms. Some days he lay in bed all the time, and scarcely spoke, sleeping and seeming dazed. Lois watched over him and waited on him with the utmost devotion.

"Is that the voice of the child Primrose?" he asked sharply one morning as she was cheerfully bidding Chloe and Rachel good-day.

"Yes. Wouldst thou like to see her?"

He nodded. But when Primrose came in he stared and shook his head.

"That is Bessy Wardour. I want the child Primrose," he mumbled slowly.

"I am Primrose, uncle. Mamma hath been dead this long time. But I have grown to a big girl, as children do."

He seemed to consider. "And thou dost know Andrew. Where is my son, and why does he stay so? I want him at home."

"He is coming soon; any day, perhaps."

"Tell him to hasten. There is something--I seem to forget, but Mr. Chew will know. It must be cast into the fire. It is a tare among the wheat.

Go quick and tell him. My son Andrew! My only and well-beloved son!"

Then he shut his eyes and drowsed off.

"He hath not talked so much in days. Oh, will Andrew ever come? What is it thou must do?"

"He has started by this time. There are to be some officers in Philadelphia, and General Washington is to come to consult with Congress. They have had a sad bereavement in Madam Washington's only son, who was ill but a short time and leaves a young family. And I will not let Andrew lose a moment."

"Thank you, dear child," clasping her hands.

Faith was coming up from the barn with a basket of eggs.

"Oh, dear Primrose!" she cried, "I know Uncle James is dying. They will not let me see him alone, and there is a great thing on my conscience.

Oh, if Andrew were only here!"

"He will be here shortly. Oh, Faith, not really dying!" in alarm.

"Yes, yes! Grandmother was something that way. To be sure it is little comfort living. But I want to tell thee--Rachel has softened strangely, and sometimes has a frightened, far-away look in her eyes and she listens so when her uncle frets. Oh, if I were but twenty-one, and could get away from it all! It is as if I might see a ghost."

"He wants to see Andrew. Something is to be cast into the fire. I wish I knew."

"It was so quiet and no one was afraid when grandmother died. But this is awesome. Oh, Primrose, I hate to have thee go."

"Faith! Faith!" called the elder sister.

Primrose went her way in a strange state of mind. Was there anything she could do? She would ask Aunt Wetherill.

"Something is on his mind, surely. But whether one ought to take the responsibility to see Mr. Chew, I cannot decide."

How long the hours appeared! Twice the next day she sent fleet-footed Joe down to see if any soldiers had come in. And Madam Wetherill called at the Attorney General's office to find that he was in deep consultation with the Congress.

Just at the edge of the next evening there was a voice at the great hall door that sent a thrill to her very soul. She sped out.