"As if we did not have our fine and n.o.ble Delaware that runs on and up past the Jerseys to the State of New York. And there is our Schuylkill with its peaceful sh.o.r.es 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 sa.s.safras 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, G.o.d 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 she had the sweet unconsciousness of a flower that had yet to open, and she did not want it rudely forced.

Rachel's desire and disappointment must have soured her greatly, she thought. In spite of her training in resignation, human nature seemed as strong in her as in any woman of the world who maneuvered for a lover.

Yet Madam Wetherill was truly glad Andrew had escaped the snare.

And now the country was in great disquiet again. Arnold's treason and its sad outcome in the death of the handsome and accomplished Major Andre fell like a thunderbolt on the town where he had been the leader of the gay life under Howe. Many women wept over his sad end. Washington had been doubtful of Arnold's integrity for some time, but thought giving him the command at West Point would surely attach him to his country's fortunes. Washington being called to a conference with the French officers at Hartford, Arnold chose this opportunity to surrender West Point and its dependencies, after some show of resistance, into the hands of the British for a certain sum of money.

But Arnold had roused suspicions in the heart of more than one brave soldier; among them Andrew Henry, who had been promoted to a lieutenancy for brave conduct and foresight.

Clinton was to sail up the river. Andre went up the Hudson in the sloop of war _Vulture_, which anch.o.r.ed off Teller's Point. Fearing they knew not what, the Continentals dragged an old six-pound cannon to the end of Teller's Point. That galled the _Vulture_ and drove her from her anchorage, so that she drifted down the river. Andre, therefore, was compelled to make his way by land. Being arrested at Haverstraw, the commander unwisely allowed him to send a letter to Arnold, who at once fled down the river in a barge and met the _Vulture_, leaving behind his wife, the beautiful Philadelphian, Margaret Shippen, and their infant son, and thus the chief traitor escaped.

England had spent a vast amount of treasure and thousands of lives in battles, hardships, and disease, and had not conquered the revolutionists. She had now involved herself in war with both France and Spain. Holland, too, was secretly negotiating a treaty with the United Colonies.

While the town was in consternation over these events, late in November Mrs. Washington, then on her way to join her husband, stopped a brief while with President Reed of the Congress. Again the soldiers were in great distress, needing everything and winter coming on. The ladies had formed a society for work, and were making clothing and gathering what funds they could.

"Mrs. Washington is to come," said Polly Wharton, dropping in at Arch Street, full of eagerness. "The Marquis de Lafayette has given five hundred dollars in his wife's name, and the Countess de Luzerne gives one hundred. When we count it up in our depreciated money it sounds much greater," and Polly laughed with a gay nod. "Mrs. Washington has begged to contribute also. It is said the commander in chief was almost heart-broken about that handsome young Andre, and would have saved him if he could. And Margaret Shippen comes home next to a deserted wife, at all events deserted in her most trying hour. Of course, Primrose, you will join us. You can do something more useful than embroider roses on a petticoat, or needlework a stomacher."

"Indeed I can. Patty has seen to it that I shall know something besides strumming on the spinet and reading French verse. But the French are our very good friends."

"And I am crazy to see Mrs. Washington. There is devotion for you!"

"If thou wert a commander's wife thou wouldst be doing the same thing, Polly. 'For,' she said in the beginning, 'George is right; he is always right. And though I foresee dark days and many discouragements, my heart will always be with him and the country.' If we had more such patriots instead of pleasure-loving women!" And Madam Wetherill sighed, though her face was in a glow of enthusiasm.

"But there are many brave women who give up husbands and sons. And though my mother consented about Allin, it wrung her heart sorely. We have not heard in so long. That is the hardest. But we seem to get word easily of the gay doings in New York. And so thou wilt not go, Primrose?"

"Indeed, I will not. What pleasure would it be to me to dance and be gay with my country's enemies? I shall make shirts and knit socks."

"Yes, Primrose is old enough, but she somehow clings to childhood," said Madam. "We have spoiled her with much indulgence."

"Indeed, I am not spoiled. And if the British should take away all we had, dear aunt, I would work for thee. I do know many things."

"Dear heart!" and Madam Wetherill kissed her.

There was much interest to see Mrs. Washington, though some of the ladies had met her on a previous visit. Madam Wetherill had been among those brave enough to ally herself with the cause by calling then, and Mrs. Washington gracefully remembered it.

"And this is the little girl, grown to womanhood almost," she said, as Primrose courtesied to her. "You are not a Friend, I see by your attire; but the name suggested someone----"

"But my father was, madam, and well known in the town. And I have a brave Quaker cousin who joined the army at Valley Forge, Andrew Henry."

"Yes, I think that is the name. Did he not bring some supplies while we were in so much want, and come near to getting in trouble? You must be proud of him indeed, for he was among those who suspected Arnold's treachery, and were so on the alert that they set some of his plans at naught, for which we can never be thankful enough. Henry, that is the name! A tall fine young fellow with a martial bearing, one of the fighting Quakers, and Philadelphia hath done n.o.bly in raising such men.

The General never forgets good service, and he is marked for promotion."

Primrose courtesied again, her eyes shining with l.u.s.trousness that was near to tears.

"I should almost have danced up and down and clapped my hands, or else fallen at her feet and kissed her pretty hands if she had said that about Allin," declared Polly afterward. "Oh, it was soul-stirring, and the belles stood envying you, but some of them have blown hot and blown cold, and were ready to dance with Whig and Tory alike. And I wanted to say that you were too patriotic to go up to New York and be merry with your brother. Then I bethought me he was on the wrong side. Such a splendid fellow, too, Primrose; skating like the wind, and such a dancer, and with so many endearing ways. Child, how can you resist him?"

"I cannot be a turncoat for the dearest love."

"Andrew Henry should have been your brother. He looks more like that grand old portrait of your father than his own son does," declared Polly, and some inexplicable feeling sent the scarlet waves to the fair face of Primrose.

Busy enough the women were, and on many of the shirts was the name of the maker. Primrose begged that Patty's name might be put on their dozen, and Janice Kent consented hers should be used.

"For Primrose is such an odd, fanciful name, and it seems as if it belonged just to my own self and my dear mother," the child said, and Madam Wetherill respected the delicacy.