A Little Maid of Old Philadelphia Part 8

She noticed that her mantle was dusty and wrinkled, and that the lace on the velvet coat was torn. The scarlet coat, however, was not to be found, and Betty had also disappeared.

Deciding that she would find her little daughter and the coat safely at home Mrs. Hastings bade her friends good-bye and started for her walk home. But she did not find Betty there. Supper time came, and still no Betty. A servant was sent to Mrs. Merrill's to inquire for the little girl, but came hurrying back with the tidings that Betty had not been seen since the end of the play.

Mrs. Merrill now looked through every room, but Betty was not to be found. She inquired at the homes of her neighbors, but no one had seen the little girl.

The April twilight deepened to dusk; the stars shone out and found Mrs.

Hastings anxious and troubled, for she could find no trace of Betty.

When Betty ran down the alley she had thought it would be an easy matter to reach home with the red coat; but she had forgotten that Philadelphia was full of the King's soldiers, and that a bareheaded little girl racing down the street with the coat of an English officer over her arm would not escape notice; and she had only reached Second Street when a pa.s.sing soldier called to her. His call only made her run the faster, and the soldier sped after her. If Betty had stopped at once, told her own name and address, and the name of the owner of the coat, the soldier would doubtless have taken her directly home and made sure that she had told him the truth, and it is probable that her troubles would have been at an end. But Betty was now too frightened to think clearly. She did not even know the direction in which she ran was straight away from her home. The English soldier ran clumsily, and Betty, turning quickly into another street, soon distanced him; but only to run straight into another soldier, who seized her firmly by both arms, swung her about, and without a word marched her down the street.

"Making off with an officer's coat," he said, after what seemed a very long time to the frightened girl. "What's your name?"

Betty made no response. She resolved that no one should ever know that Betty Hastings had been suspected of such a dreadful thing as taking what she had no right to take.

"Won't speak, eh? Well, I'll take you to Captain De Lance and see what he has to say to you," said the soldier, and the silent little girl, still holding the scarlet coat, was led down one street after another until she saw the s.h.i.+ning waters of the Schuylkill River before her, and the soldier led her up the steps of an old stone house whose garden ran down to the river. The soldier was evidently familiar with the house, for he pushed open the door and led Betty into a big pleasant room, and motioned toward a comfortable chair.

"You can sit there until the captain comes in; and you had best tell me your name. 'Twill do you no good to sulk," he said, taking the coat from her reluctant grasp. But Betty only set her lips more firmly. She resolved not to speak, no matter what might befall her.

"Very well, Miss. I'll leave you to find your tongue," said the soldier, laying the coat carefully over a chair and leaving the room. Betty heard him turn the key in the lock. She was tired, and leaned back in the cus.h.i.+oned chair, hardly realizing what had befallen her. She could hear steps now and then outside the door, and every moment expected that it would open and the captain of whom the soldier had spoken would appear.

But the room grew shadowy in the deepening twilight and no one came near. Betty's thoughts flew homeward to the candle-lit dining-room where Dinah, the Hastings' colored servant, would be spreading the table for supper, and Betty realized that she was very hungry.

She left her seat and tiptoed toward a long window at the further end of the room. The window looked out into the garden, and Betty instantly realized that it swung in on hinges and was not fastened, and that it would be an easy matter to let herself down to the ground.

"I must take the coat," she thought, and crept back to the chair where the scarlet coat lay. In a moment she was back at the window and had dropped the coat to the ground; and now, grasping the window sill with both hands, she let herself carefully down. Picking up the coat, and keeping close in the shadow of the house, Betty made her way until she was near the door through which she had entered the house. She went very carefully, peering ahead into the shadows, and listening intently for any sound that might warn her that her flight had been discovered. But she heard no sound, and at last she reached the road.

"It is too dark for any one to know what color the coat is now," she thought, as she hurried along.

Betty realized that she was a long distance from home, but she was sure that she could soon find her way to some familiar street and then it would be an easy matter to reach home. Now and then she pa.s.sed groups of people homeward bound, or English soldiers sauntering along the street, and then turning a corner she gave a little exclamation of delight, for there, close at hand, were the brick walls of Christ Church, its graceful spire rising against the clear April sky. And now home was near at hand and Betty quickened her pace. She had almost forgotten her mother's ruined bonnet and the fact that she had no excuse to give for borrowing the things for Gilbert's play without permission. All she could think of was the fact that she was in sight of home. She ran up the steps and the door opened as if by magic, and Betty's mother clasped her little girl, scarlet coat and all, in her welcoming arms.

CHAPTER X

THE LOST PROGRAMME

The scarlet coat, after being carefully brushed and pressed, was returned to its place in the closet; and its owner never knew or imagined the part it had taken in Gilbert's play. The soldier who had locked Betty into Captain De Lance's room, and returned to find that the silent little captive had outwitted him and made her escape, decided that it was best to keep the affair to himself, and say nothing about a little girl with an officer's coat for which she would not account.

Ruth and Winifred came early the next morning to make sure that Betty was safe at home, and listened eagerly to the story of her adventure.

"Do you suppose you could find the way back to the stone house?"

questioned Ruth.

"Yes, I am sure I could," responded Betty; but she did not suggest, as Ruth hoped, that they should all make an excursion to the house by the river. In fact, Winifred and Ruth both agreed on their way home that Betty seemed very sober. And it was true that Betty was more quiet than usual for several days; for she realized that she had had a narrow escape from a serious punishment. Nor could she forget the pretty plumed bonnet that Hero had so gaily destroyed. The fact that her mother did not speak of the bonnet only made Betty the more repentant. She and Ruth had both resolved that they would not again take for granted that they could use other people's property without permission.

"Aunt Deborah is going home to Barren Hill to-morrow," said Ruth, as she and Winifred came near home; "Farmer Withal is to call for her. You know he brings in b.u.t.ter and cheese from his farm every Thursday, and Aunt Deborah will ride home in his wagon. I wish I were going with her."

"Oh, Ruth Pernell!" said Winifred reproachfully.

"Well, I do. Barren Hill is half-way to Valley Forge, and perhaps I could see my father. And, Winifred! One day Lafayette stopped at Aunt Deborah's door! Perhaps I might see him; perhaps he might ask me to carry a message for him," said Ruth eagerly.

"Little girls can't carry war messages," Winifred rejoined confidently.

"You are just like Gilbert, always wis.h.i.+ng you could do something for Lafayette. I don't see why. I would rather help Was.h.i.+ngton."

"It's because Lafayette came 'way from France," Ruth replied, "and, anyway, I am going to Barren Hill. Mother says that I may go next month."

"I have thought of something!" Winifred announced. "To-morrow you and I will drive out a little way with your aunt. With Fluff, I mean; and Hero may go too. I will harness Fluff into the cart, and we will be all ready to start at the same time they do."

Ruth agreed that this would be a fine plan, and both the girls were sure that Aunt Deborah would be pleased that they wished to go a part of the way with her. They decided to take "Josephine" and "Cecilia," as well as Hero, with them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IT WAS A FAVORITE PLAY-HOUSE]

"It will make up to them for not taking part in the play," said Winifred. So much had happened during the past week that Ruth had entirely forgotten the unfinished chair for Cecilia, but now she spoke of it to Winifred.

"I will help you finish it. But let's take our dolls and work into the garden; it is too warm to stay in the house," she said, and in a short time the two little girls had brought Cecilia and Josephine, as well as their sewing bags, to the shade of the wide-spreading maple tree that grew in the further corner of the Pernell's' garden. Ruth's father had built a low seat around this tree, and it was a favorite play-house for the two little friends. Hero followed them, and stretched himself out at their feet, quite sure that they were both happier because of his presence.

For a little while the girls worked steadily, covering with chintz the cardboard pieces that would form the chair.

"I'll put it together," said Winifred, and with skillful fingers she fastened the seat, back and arms; and with a triumphant "There!" set it down beside Ruth, who looked at it admiringly, and lost no time in establis.h.i.+ng Cecilia in her new possession.

"Wouldn't it be fine if we could make a sofa, and a table and a little bed for each of our dolls?" suggested Ruth.

"We can," declared Winifred, "but I think it would be nicer to have the table and bed made of wood. Let's go in your shed and see if we can find some nice smooth pieces."

"And Father's tool box is in the shed," said Ruth, as they left their dolls in Hero's care and ran across the garden to the shed, whose open door faced the big maple.

The shed was nearly square. Beside the wide door there were two windows, both looking into the garden, and beneath these was Mr. Pernell's work-bench, and a box containing his treasured tools; and on a long shelf over the bench were carefully arranged strips and squares of polished wood. For in the days of peace Mr. Pernell had used his leisure hours in making frames for pictures, a work-box, desk or light-stand; and had collected this store of material from many sources. Ruth had often played about in the shed while her father was at work, but she had no idea of the value of his store of wood.

"Oh, Winifred! Look! This will make a fine table!" she said, standing on the work-bench and pulling down a strip of curly maple.

"And here are some dark s.h.i.+ny strips, just the thing for bed-posts!"

said Winnie, drawing out a slender length of highly polished mahogany.

In a few minutes the two girls had pulled down a number of strips of wood, had opened Mr. Pernell's tool-chest and taken out a number of planes, a small saw, gimlets and a hammer.

"But we haven't any patterns," said Winifred. "You know we had a pattern for the chair."

"We don't need any pattern for a table. It is just a top and four legs, one at each corner," declared Ruth. "We can begin on the table to-day; then we can look at sofas and beds and make patterns, if we need to."

"Here is something to measure with," said Winifred, holding up a foot-rule. "We can make anything! Oh, Ruth! Instead of making doll furniture let's make truly tables, I am sure some of those pieces are large enough."

"Winifred, you always think of just the right thing," Ruth responded admiringly. "Let's make a table for a present for Betty. She got all those nice things for us to dress up in, and we have never made her a present."

Winifred nodded approvingly. She was greatly pleased by Ruth's admiration, and she thought that Betty would be greatly surprised to discover that two girls so much younger than herself could really make a table.

"Ruth! Ruth!" called Aunt Deborah from the back porch. "Dinner is ready!"