A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia Part 45

There was not a little longing for gayety and gladness after the long and weary strife, the deaths, the wounded soldiers, and all the privations. The elder people might solace themselves with card-playing, but the younger ones wanted a different kind of diversion.

The old Southwark Theater was opened under the attractive t.i.tle of "Academy of Polite Science." Here a grand ovation was given to General Was.h.i.+ngton, "Eugenie," a play of Beaumarchais, being acted, with a fine patriotic prologue. The young women were furbis.h.i.+ng up their neglected French, or studying it anew, and the French minister was paid all the honors of the town. The affection and grat.i.tude shown the French allies were one of the features of the winter.

Philemon Henry was proud enough of his pretty sister, and the still fine-looking grand dame Mrs. Wetherill. Then there was piquant Polly Wharton with her smiles and ready tongue, and even Andrew Henry was recreant enough to grace the occasion, which seemed to restore an atmosphere of amity and friendly alliance.

There was more than one who recalled the gay young Andre and his personations during the liveliest winter Philadelphia had ever known.

Dancing cla.s.ses were started again, and the a.s.semblies reopened. Many of the belles of that older period were married; not a few of them, like Miss Becky Franks, had married English officers, and were now departing for England since there was no more glory to be gained at war, and these heroes were somewhat at a discount.

There were many young patriots and not a few Southerners who had come up with the army, for Philadelphia, though she had been buffeted and traduced, had proved the focus of the country, since Congress had been held here most of the time; here the mighty Declaration had been born and read, when the substance was treason, and here the flag had been made; here indeed the first glad announcement of the great victory had been shouted out in the silent night. So the old town roused herself to a new brightness. Grave as General Was.h.i.+ngton could be when seriousness was requisite, he had the pleasant Virginian side to his nature, and was not averse to entertainments.

Gilbert Vane had returned with the soldiers, and ere long he knew his friend was in the city; for Major Henry said the brother of Primrose was almost a daily visitor at Madam Wetherill's.

"And still a stout Tory, I suppose, regarding me as a renegade?" Vane ventured with a half smile.

"He has changed a great deal. Primrose, I think, lops off a bit of self-conceit and belief in the divine right of kings, at every interview. And he is her shadow."

"Then I should have no chance of seeing her," the young man said disappointedly.

"Nay. I think Cousin Phil n.o.bler than to hold a grudge when so many grudges have been swept away. I find him companionable in many respects.

He was in quite ill-health when he first came, but improves daily."

"He was like an elder brother to me always, and it was a sore pang to offend him. But I came to see matters in a new light. And I wonder how it was his sweet little sister did not convert him? She was always so courageous and charming, a most fascinating little rebel in her childhood. I should have adored such a sister. Indeed, if I had possessed one at home I should never have crossed the ocean."

Andrew repeated part of this conversation to Primrose. He had been impressed with the young man's patriotism.

"Oh, you know, in a certain way, he was _my_ soldier," she said with her sunniest smile. "And now I must see him. How will we plan it? For Phil is a little proud and a good deal obstinate. Polly would know how to bring it about, she has such a keen wit. And Allin would like him, I know. Polly shall give you an invitation for him at her next dance. And you must come, even if you do not dance."

Andrew gave an odd, half-a.s.senting look. It was as Rachel had said long ago; in most things she wound him around her finger.

But at the first opportunity she put the subject cunningly to Philemon.

"What became of that old friend of yours, who changed your colors for mine, and went to fight my battles?" she asked gayly, one day, when they had stopped reading a thin old book of poems by one George Herbert.

"My friend? Oh, do you mean young Vane? I have often wondered. He went to Virginia--I think I told you. It was a great piece of folly, when there was a home for him in England."

"But if his heart was with us!" she remarked prettily with her soft winsomeness. "Art thou very angry with him?" and her beautiful eyes wore an appealing glance.

"Primrose, when you want to subdue the enemy utterly, use 'thee' and 'thou.' No man's heart could stand against such witchery. Thou wilt be a sad coquette later on."

She laughed then at his attempt. There was always a little dimple in her chin, and when she laughed one deepened in her cheek.

"Surely I am spoiled with flattery. I should be vainer than a peac.o.c.k.

But that is not answering my question. I wonder how much thou hast of the Henry malice."

"Was I angry? Why, the defection seemed traitorous then. I counted loyalty only on the King's side. But I have learned that a man can change when he is serving a bad side and still be honest. He was a fine fellow, but I think he was tired of idleness and frivolity, and he fell in with some women who were of your way of believing, and their glowing talk fascinated him. One of them I know had a brother in the southern army."

"Then it was not _I_ who converted him." She gave a pretty pout, in mock disappointment.

"I think you started it. Though New York had many rebels."

"And perhaps he will come back and marry one of them."

"He may be at that now. Nay," seriously, "more likely he is in some unknown grave. And he was very dear to me," with a manly sigh.

"Then you could forgive him?" softly.

"In his grave, yes. Alive, the question would be whether, being the victor, he would not crow over me. Oh, little Primrose, war is a very bitter thing after all. To think I came near to killing Cousin Andrew, and yet he holds no malice. What a big heart he has! I do not believe in Henry malice."

"And _you_ will hold no malice?"

"It is hardly likely I shall see him."

She turned around and pretended to be busy with the curtain so that he might not see the glad light s.h.i.+ning in her eyes. But he was thinking of the old days when they were lads together and talked of what they would do when they were lords of Vane Priory and Nevitt Grange.

And when they met they simply looked into each other's eyes and clasped hands; the new disquiet being forgotten and the old affection leaping to its place. Just a moment. They were forming a little dance, and Lieutenant Vane was to lead with Miss Polly Wharton, while Primrose had Allin for a partner.

"You little mischief," and Phil gave Primrose a soft pinch afterward, "how did you dare? What if we had both been foes to the teeth?"

"Ah, I knew better. Andrew said he was longing to be friends, but would not dare make the first advances. And if you had refused to speak with him at this house you would not be gentlemanly."

"I should like to kiss you before everybody."

"It is not good manners."

"You will have a rival."

"I shall not like that. Whatever you do, no one shall be loved better than I."

"Not even a wife, if I should get one? Oh, you jealous little Primrose!"

"Let me see--if I should choose her----" And she glanced up archly.

"Then you would have me here forever. She would be a maiden of this quaint old town."

"Then I shall choose her," triumphantly.

"Primrose, come and sing," said half a dozen voices.

And though Gilbert Vane listened entranced to the singing, he also had an ear for his friend. It was so good to be at peace with him, and they promised to meet the next day.

Madam Wetherill was glad to see the young lieutenant again. Her house seemed to be headquarters, as before, and nothing interested her more than to hear the story of the southern campaign from such an enthusiastic talker as Vane, for Andrew was rather reticent about his own share in these grand doings.

It was not a cold winter, and the spring opened early. Philadelphia seemed to rise from her depression and there were signs of business once more, although the finances of the nation were in a most troubled state.

Shops were opening, stores put on their best and bravest attire, and suddenly there was a tremor in the very air, a flutter and song of birds, and a hazy, grayish-blue look about the trees that were swelling with buds, soon to turn into crimson maple blooms, and tender birch ta.s.sels and all beautiful greenery, such as moves the very soul, and informs it with new life.

In March the cessation of hostilities was agreed upon, and plans looking toward peace.