Mrs. Bache, Franklin's daughter, wrote to Washington that there were twenty-five hundred shirts, the result of nimble and patriotic fingers; and, she added, "we wish them to be worn with as much pleasure as they were made."

Philemon Nevitt was indeed angry at his sister's refusal, but as he was in no sense her guardian, he could not compel her. Some weeks elapsed before he wrote again. It was a hard, cold winter, and if full of discouragements for the Continentals was not especially inspiriting for the British.

There had been something of a revolt among the Philadelphia troops at Morristown, who thought, having served their three years' enlistment, they should be allowed to return to their homes. Sir Henry Clinton, mistaking the spirit of the trouble, at once offered to take them under the protection of the British government, clothe and feed them and require no service of them, unless it was voluntarily proffered.

"See, comrades," exclaimed one of the leaders; "we have been taken for traitors! Let us show General Clinton that the American Army can furnish but one Arnold, and that America has no truer patriots than we. But if we fight, we should not be compelled to starve on the field, nor have our wives and children starving at home."

This protest aroused Congress. Taxes were imposed and submitted to cheerfully, and Robert Morris, an ardent patriot, with Thomas Mifflin, labored to bring about a better state of finances, and the Bank of Pennsylvania was due to the ability and munificence of the former.

And though, as Thomas Reed admitted, "the bulk of the people were weary of war," and the different parties in the city were almost at swords'

points, they had all joined in fierce denunciation of Arnold's treason.

His handsome estate was confiscated, not so much for its value, as it was deeply in debt, but as an example of the detestation in which the citizens held his crime. His wife pleaded to stay in her father's house with her young son, but the executive council decided that she must leave the State at once.

The mob made a two-faced effigy, which was dragged in a cart through the streets, a band of rough music playing the Rogue's March. Afterward it was hanged and burned, and no Tory voice was raised in his behalf, though universal sympathy was expressed for the unfortunate young Andre.

Philemon Henry was intensely bitter about it. "But you have not all the traitors," he wrote. "My heart has been rent by the defection of some of our bravest men, and most trusted; and one who has seemed almost a brother to me, as we played together in boyhood, and have kept step in many things. I had cherished a curious hope that he might disarm thy girlish bitterness, Primrose, and that sometime his true worth would be apparent to you. And from the first, though he never confessed any further than that he envied me my pretty little sister, I knew he was more than common interested. These things are best left to work themselves out, and you were both young, so I held my peace. Six months ago Sir Gilbert Vane, the uncle, died, and, as t.i.tle and estates were entailed, Vane Priory came to him. At first he was minded to return, and I wish now that I had bundled him off. Then he had queer, dispirited fits about the cause we were serving. I regret we have not been more in earnest and not so much given to pleasure. The city has been very gay, but I think many of the women whose feet twinkled merrily in the dance talked treason with rosy lips in the pauses.

"I was angry when I read your letter and tossed it over to him, wishing that I had been your guardian and had some right to order your life. He held it a long while, then he rose and began to pace the floor.

"'I tell you, Phil,' he said with strange earnestness, 'we are on the wrong side. Nothing can ever conquer these people while the love of their own country outweighs everything else. If the women feel this way, and cannot be tempted, no wonder the men are steadfast and go in rags and half starve and take any hardship. We forget that they are our own kin, of our own brave English blood, and would we tolerate an invader?

Would we not fight to the last man? It would be n.o.bler to go home and let them rule themselves, for we can never conquer them.'

"'You talk treason,' I said angrily. 'You had better be careful.'

"'They are talking the same thing in the House of Parliament. I have been paying more attention to these things of late, and I feel that in the end we shall be worsted. Better make brothers of them now while we can. If this were my country, my birthplace----'

"'Hold!' I cried in a pa.s.sion. 'I am an Englishman. That is the country of my mother's birth, and my father had good English blood in his veins.

My Uncle Henry thinks the rebels all in the wrong, and I know well my father would never have sided with them. My sister would have been brought up to love the King.'

"He made no answer, but went out presently. Then for some days he was moody and kept himself quite busy, and I thought was planning to return to England to look after his estates. Our colonel thought so, too. And then five others beside him suddenly disappeared. Shortly after we learned they had gone South to enter the army under General Greene. I only hope they will fall into Tarleton's hands, and he will make short work of them. But my heart is sore for the loss of my boyhood's friend, and the shame of his turning traitor. I hear that Benedict Arnold has joined the King's forces, and of a surety he and they would be well matched in any fight.

"I have a presentiment I shall never see my pretty darling again.

Primrose, I love thee more than thou canst imagine. I would that I had thee and that we two were going to England out of this terrible strife.

Farewell.

"Thine own dear brother,

"PHIL."

Primrose ran weeping to her aunt and gave her the long epistle. Madam Wetherill tried to comfort her, and presently she dried her tears a little.

"We can hardly call him a traitor,--Gilbert Vane, I mean,--for he has not really betrayed his country, but changed his mind. And I think it very brave of him when he might go to England and live in luxury," said Primrose in a broken voice.

"Thou art quick to see the heroic side. Of course, if he should be taken prisoner, he would be put to death without mercy."

"But he does not sell his country!" with emphasis. "Oh, poor, dear Phil!

My heart aches for him. And yet, if the British soldiers begin to see the doubtfulness of a final conquest, I think there must be hope. But what can I say to Philemon? I seem destined to be always divided in opposite directions."

"That is very true," and Madam Wetherill smiled rather sadly. For it seemed hard indeed that brother and sister should have such opposing interests. Many a girl would have been won at once by the proffer of pleasure.

But Primrose did not have very long to consider. Another note came from New York. Tired of inaction, Philemon Nevitt had asked that some more stirring duty should be allotted to him, and he was transferred to another body of troops, who were watching the Americans and hara.s.sing them in the vicinity of Morristown. It was said deserters from the British army had transferred their allegiance, and Colonel Nevitt determined to put a stop to this, and capture some of them to make an example the soldiers would dread in future.

"When he writes like this I hate him!" and Primrose stamped her dainty foot upon the floor, while her eyes flashed with curious steely gleams that seemed to have black points. "It does not seem as if the same blood could run in our veins, but then he hath none of my own dear mother's sweetness. If he were related to her my heart would break. And I think he must have some of the characteristics of uncle James, who keeps his hard heart against Cousin Andrew. Was my father of that stamp, dear madam?"

"He had a much broader life. He was brought into contact with various people, and possessed a certain suavity that one finds in many of the old families here in town. Good Mr. Penn did not insist that men should be all of one mind."

"'Twould be a queer world indeed," and Primrose half smiled, for her moods were like an April day.

"Then thy mother was a wise, winsome woman," said Madam Wetherill in fond remembrance.

"That is what wins me to Phil," returned the girl. "When he talked of her and all her pretty ways, and the dainty verses and tales she told him, and how she shielded him from his father's displeasure when he would have been whipped, then he seems like a vision of her come back.

But, now that he is going to fight against my country----" and the rosy lips curled in scorn. "He might have remained a fine, pleasure-loving soldier, doing no real harm, fit to dance with pretty women or march in a fine parade."

She discussed this with Polly Wharton, who was now her dearest friend, although she was two years older.

"Art thou not unduly bitter, Primrose?" Polly always chided in grave Quaker phraseology, but, like many of the younger generation, fell into worldly p.r.o.nouns in seasons of haste or merriment. "We should be ashamed of him if he saw his duty and weakly shirked it. I am sorry such a fine fellow, with good American blood in his veins, should be a Tory. In truth I cannot see at present how the quarrel can be mended, and I am desperately sorry."

Polly's cheeks were pink as a rose.

"It never will be mended now. Times are hard with us, to be sure, and there is much discouragement, but the French army and a great navy have reached Newport, and Aunt Wetherill was reading of a French loan. That wise Mr. Adams is in Paris with our dear Mr. Franklin----"

"Who plays chess with French beauties and writes them skits and bagatelles, and, no doubt dances the grave minuet with them. And then we blame our young lads for having a little pleasure! But 'tis darkest just before dawn, and maybe we have come to the darkest times."

"And I am certain the dawn will come. G.o.d will not let such a good cause and so great an effort in behalf of human liberty go by default."

So they worked on and hoped. There was great interest in the Southern campaign now.

And then Polly came one morning, full of tears and trouble. There had been sad news from the highlands of the Hudson. A troop of British had made their way almost to one of the camps, expecting to surprise and capture the Federal soldiers. There had been a sharp skirmish, spirited and fateful enough to be called a battle. The Federals had won in the end and taken a number of prisoners, while many British soldiers were among the killed and wounded.

"Andrew Henry sent the word to my father, who means to apply for pa.s.ses and go at once," and there Polly broke down.

"But that is not the worst of it. Something has happened to Allin! Oh, Polly!" and the soft arms were about Polly's neck, while she was kissing the tear-wet cheek, her own eyes overflowing.

"Yes, it is Allin!" sobbed the girl. "They thought when they first brought him in that he was dead. But it seems now he is badly wounded and may live. They wanted to take his leg off, but Lieutenant Henry would not let them. Oh, poor Allin! And he begged that father would come or send, for the regiment may go on to Virginia."

"Oh, if he could be brought home!"

"It comes so near now." Polly wiped her eyes. "But oh, Primrose! I had nigh forgotten. Forgive me that I put my own sorrow first. Colonel--I believe he is that now--Colonel Nevitt led the men and was wounded also, and is captured."

Primrose stood up very straight, and contradictory emotions struggled in her fair face. Her rosy lips faded and quivered, and she swallowed over a great lump in her throat.

"It seems strange," said Polly, "that the cousins should have been pitted against each other. And, though I am desperately sorry about Colonel Nevitt, I am proud of Andrew Henry. Oh, dear Primrose!"

"I am always torn in two. I wonder if there was ever such a girl!" and the slow tears beaded the bronze lashes of Primrose Henry's eyes.

"Think of poor Peggy Shippen being banished from her family and forced to follow a traitor! For, after all, it was the fortune of war, and Colonel Nevitt was doing his duty as he saw it in all good faith."

"Thou art so generous, Polly. He should have been some connection to thee; oh! what am I saying? Surely thou wouldst not want a redcoat Britisher tacked to thy family! I hope he is not sorely wounded, but just enough to keep him from fighting against my country until we have won our independence."