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 tassels 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.
"Now, little rebel!" exclaimed Philemon Henry, "you must lay down your arms. Surely you should meet us half-way?"
"What arms?" archly, smiling out of mischievous eyes.
"A sharp and saucy tongue. Sometimes you are hardly just to Vane, and in your eyes he should be a patriot."
"He is. But surely I do not talk half as bad as Mrs. Ferguson and Miss Jeffries. One would think, listening to them, that the Americans had no sense, and could not govern the country they fought for. Why do not people like these go back to England?"
"Shall I go?" in a voice of sad indecision.
"If you talked like that I should bid you a joyous send off! What a pity Miss Jeffries had not married one of Howe's officers; then she would have to go when they are all sent out of the country. And poor old Mr. Jeffries hath quite lost his head. Aunt hates to play with him any more, for he loses incessantly."
"But do not the soldiers need something out of the fund?"