A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia Part 51

CHAPTER XXIII.

PRIMROSE.

With all the disquiet it had been an unusually gay summer for Philadelphia, even after the General and Mrs. Was.h.i.+ngton had bidden it adieu. For in June there had been a great fete given by the French minister in honor of the birth of the Dauphin, the heir to the throne of France. M. de Luzerne's residence was brilliantly illuminated, and a great open-air pavilion, with arches and colonnades, bowers, and halls with nymphs and statues, even Mars leaning on his s.h.i.+eld, and Hebe holding Jove's cup. It was seldom indeed that the old Carpenter mansion had seen such a sight.

There were elegant women and brave men, though the Mischianza crowd had been widely scattered. The girls had danced, and chatted in French as far as they knew how, and enjoyed themselves to the full, and the elders had sat down to an almost royal banquet. Polly and Primrose had been among the belles.

Then there had been a grand Fourth of July celebration. A civic banquet, with Morris, d.i.c.kinson, Mifflin, and many another. Bells were rung and cannons fired, the Schuylkill was gay with pleasure parties and fluttering flags and picnic dinners along its winding and pleasant banks. And then in August they had most loyally kept the French King's birthday with banquets and b.a.l.l.s. And though financial ruin was largely talked of, a writer of the times declares "No other city was so rich, so extravagant, and so fas.h.i.+onable."

And yet withal there was a serious and sensible element. There had before the war been many years of unexampled prosperity; and though there might be a whirl, people soon came back to reasonable living.

Truth to tell, Philemon Henry was becoming quite captivated with the city of his birth and his later adoption. And as he began to understand Madam Wetherill's views for his own future as well as that of his cousin, he was amazed at her generosity. "Nay, it is not simple generosity," she declared with great vigor. "There is no reason why you two should not make a place for yourselves in the new city, such as your father held in the old. Perhaps wider, for your father would have nothing to do with government, and a man ought to take some interest in the civic prosperity of his city as well as money-getting. Mr.

Wetherill, whether wisely or not, put much money in property, and it has been a dead weight mostly. But now the time has come to improve it, and with peace there will be many changes and much work to do. I have grown too old, and a woman cannot well attend to it. Younger blood and strength must take it up. Then--if we make some mistakes, there is no one to suffer, though I did not expect to give even two well-trained colts their heads altogether."

He smiled, but there was a soft mistiness in his eyes.

"I can never thank you," he said unsteadily.

"I must trust someone, you see. Mr. Northfield is too old, Mr. Morris has his hands full; indeed, I can think of no one better. I have some of the Wardour willfulness, and take my own way about things. I do not often make mistakes. This is no sudden notion of mine."

"There is one thing, madam, I must explain before we go farther. I am--I have"--he paused and flushed in embarra.s.sment--"there is an understanding between myself and Miss Polly Wharton, not an engagement, for as yet I have had no certainty to offer. But we care very much for each other."

Madam Wetherill gave a quick nod or two and there was a smile in her bright eyes.

"Polly will make a good wife. Thou couldst hardly have chosen better. I would speak to Mr. Wharton and have the matter settled now. If he had not been of a consenting mind, thou wouldst hardly have found a welcome entrance for so long in his home."

"Madam--I never dreamed of being so happy."

"Oh, no doubt thou wilt be much happier on thy wedding day," and she laughed with a bright sparkle of amus.e.m.e.nt. "I am fond of young people, though they do many foolish things."

"But my sister?" he said suddenly. "We have forgotten about her. All these years of thy kind care----"

"Well--what of her? I loved her mother. I never had a child of my own, though a hen rarely runs after another hen's chicks. The little moppet stole into my heart, and by just raising her eyes inveigled me into fighting for her. Miss Primrose Henry has all the fortune it is good for a girl to have, and she is a gay b.u.t.terfly to go dancing about for the next few years. Indeed, I believe she has quite made up her mind to stay single, to have many admirers, but no husband. It may not be a good plan, but there have been some famous old maids,--Queen Elizabeth, for instance,--while poor Marie Stuart began with husbands early and lost her head. We can dismiss Miss Primrose to her pleasures."

Then they talked long and earnestly. Andrew Henry was coming home, and the matter would be settled.

And settled it was speedily. Andrew, having been consulted before, was not so much taken by surprise, but his grat.i.tude was none the less fervent. And one Sunday morning Polly walked very proudly up the aisle in Christ Church, with her brother on one side, and her lover on the other, right behind her parents, and when they were seated in Mr.

Wharton's pew, Polly was in the middle with her lover beside her, and he found the places in her prayer book and made responses with her and sang joyfully in the hymns. Coming out she took his arm, and blushed a good deal as people smiled at her. It was a fas.h.i.+on then, and everybody knew it was a sign of engagement.

"The young Englishman is very good-looking," said Miss Morris, "but I shall set my cap for the Quaker cousin. What a pity he gives up war and discards soldier clothes, for there is scarcely such a fine-appearing general!"

The young Quaker, mature and manly for his years, took hold of business as if it had been his birthright. Perhaps it had come to him with the resemblance to his uncle. And when Philemon Nevitt decided to take back his father's name, Polly and Primrose rejoiced wildly.

Primrose threw her arms around his neck and gave him many of the kisses she had used to be so chary about.

"Now you are my own dear brother!" she exclaimed, and the satisfaction rang through her voice like a bell. "No king can ever claim you again."

"Unless _we_ have a king."

"But we are not going to have a king. We are all born free and equal."

"Julius and Joe and the old Pepper Pot woman, and the Calamus boys?"

with a mischievous smile.

"The slaves are all going to be free. We cannot do everything in a moment. And the equality----" Primrose was rather nonplused.

"Yes, the equality," with a triumphant lifting of the brows.

"I think the equality means this: that everyone shall have a right to try for the best places, and no one shall push him down. To try for education and happiness, and if he is full up to the brim and content, even if he has not as much as the other, isn't there a certain equalization?"

"Primrose, I fear thou wilt be a sophist before thy hundred years are ended," said her brother with a soft pinch of her rosy cheek.

The Randolphs had considered the feasibility of returning south, but Madam Wetherill begged them not to try homelessness with winter coming on. And at Cherry Farm there was one supremely happy woman, Lois Henry.

"Madam Wetherill is more than good to thee," she said to her son with a thankfulness that trembled in her voice. "How one can be mistaken in souls under gay garbs. Indeed it is as the child used to say, 'G.o.d made all beautiful things, and nothing is to be called common or unclean, or high and lofty and wasteful.' I am more glad than I can say that thou hast returned to the fas.h.i.+on of the Friends again, but thou art a man to look well in nice attire, and truly one serveth G.o.d with the heart and not with the clothes, except that neatness should be observed. The Lord hath given Madam Wetherill a large heart, and she holds no rancor."

"She is one in a thousand," was the fervent reply.

And then Andrew described one of several cottages on Chestnut Street that belonged to the estate of Miss Primrose Henry, and was to rent.

There was a small court in front, a gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce at the side with a cherry tree and a pear tree, and a garden at the back for vegetables.

"For I must have thee in the city near by," he said, "so I can come in to dinner at noon, and spend most of my evenings with thee. Mr.

Franklin's old paper, the _Gazette_, is to be brought out again, and we shall know what is going on. And we will find a meeting house near by, and take great comfort with each other after our seasons of sorrow and separation."

"My son, my dear son! I bless the Lord for thee every day. He hath given me the oil of joy for mourning."

Andrew had greeted Rachel with great cordiality. He was grateful that she had cared so kindly for his mother, though Faith had been the more tender. Penn was settled in part of his new house and very content.

Indeed his love for Clarissa was something of a thorn in Rachel's side, but she paid small attention to it outwardly. When Andrew laid his plan before her, however, her very heart sank within her.

"She is to have her living here. I am sure, Andrew, as G.o.d is my witness, that I have been like a daughter to her. She hath said so herself. My own mother is dead, let her remain in the place. And thou--thou wilt marry sometime----"

"A long while yet. I am her son and want her, and she is ready and pleased to come. It is but right and natural. As for the living, make no account of that. When we want a holiday it may be pleasant to come out to the farm."

That was a straw and she caught quickly at it. But in any event she saw that she could not help nor hinder.

Primrose took Polly with her to see what should be put in the cottage.

"There are many new things to make work handy, and comforts. Andrew must have a settle here in the living room and it shall be my pleasure to make cus.h.i.+ons for it. And oh, Polly, he has learned to smoke while he was soldiering! Of course Aunt Lois will want some of the old things, and she has chests of bed and table linen. But we can buy some plates and cups. Aunt Lois had some pretty Delft ware that I used to dry on nice soft towels when I was a little girl. We will hunt the city over to find Delft."

They were delightfully engrossed with shopping. The stores were displaying tempting aspects again and merchants were considering foreign trade. But it was quite ridiculous, though no one saw it in just that light then, that one should take with them a thousand or so dollars to do a morning's buying. But when a frying pan cost sixty dollars and three cups and saucers one hundred and fifty, and a table two hundred, money soon went. There was plenty of it, to be sure. Congress ordered new issues when it fell short.

People still watched out for Quaker sales: that is, Quakers who refused to pay certain taxes had their belongings seized and sold, and women were as ready for bargains then as now.

Faith took counsel of the trustees who had been appointed for her, and found that she could get away from her sister's home. So she begged Aunt Lois to take her, as they would need some help. Andrew opposed this at first, fearing it would lead to trouble, and Rachel was very angry. But on second thought she decided it would be wiser. For by this means she would still have some hold over them all. On condition that Faith would come home every fortnight for a little visit she consented, and though Faith, trained long in repression, said but little, her heart beat with great joy. Rachel had kept a Swedish woman nearly all summer for out-of-door work, and now engaged her for the winter. By spring, certainly, she would know what lay before her.

William Frost, who had once been in the habit of walking home with her, was married. A well-to-do farmer living up the Wissahickon had called a number of times, but he had four children, and Rachel had no mind to give up her home for hard work and little thanks. She was still young, and with her good marriage portion would not go begging. But the choice of her heart, the best love of her heart all her life, would be Andrew Henry, and she felt the child and the girl, Primrose, had always stood in her way. If she would only marry!

But Primrose was having a lovely winter. True, there were times when Allin Wharton grew a little too tender, and she would tease him in her willful fas.h.i.+on, or be very cool to him, or sometimes treat him in an indifferent and sisterly fas.h.i.+on, so difficult to surmount. There were so many others, though Primrose adroitly evaded steady admirers. When they grew too urgent she fled out to the farm and Betty.