The easy manners of gentlemen’s families during the Revolution were a blessing to travelers. Open houses, hearty welcome to soldiers, was the rule among patriots, and hospitality was as free and unpolluted as sparkling spring water.
What impressed Roderick Barclugh as remarkable, was the frank and unaffected manner in which he was greeted by the daughter and brilliant wife of Dr. Greydon. Their “thee’s” and “thou’s” were not assumed in addressing a guest who happened in; for the Greydons had traveled in Europe, and Dr. Greydon was a graduate in Medicine of Cambridge University.
There is risk to young women in early morning calls. If ever a young woman is seen in her true self, that time is at her own breakfast table. No one appreciated such a fact more keenly than Roderick Barclugh. Therefore, when he presented himself for this early breakfast he greeted Mrs. Greydon and Miss Mollie with these words:
“Miss Mollie, I am surprised to find you astir so early.”
“Why!” exclaimed the young Quakeress, “Mr. Barclugh, I have already translated forty lines of Horace for father, as well as directed the churning for mother.”
“Wonderful! Bravo!! Miss Greydon, I have much respect for the young woman who can combine the graces of odes of the greatest Latin poet along with the duties of domestic economy, and all before breakfast,” exclaimed Barclugh. “I believe, however, that Horace sings of the vine, the bees, the grain, the cattle, and the thrifty housewife. I am really delighted to find some one so practically refined,” continued the guest.
Mollie Greydon was a perfectly happy and healthy girl, who enjoyed being busy and useful. She was dressed this morning in a neat and becoming homespun of her father’s loom. Her form was well rounded and her face was animated and possessed of one of those kindly benevolent expressions that are heaven-born. Her eyes were hazel-brown, large and deep-set, which indicated stable character and mental penetration. Her hair was brown, and worn combed back, high and plain.
There was nothing of the ascetic or complaining nature about her. She was a wholesomely good and reasonable girl, ready and willing to accept any station in life in which she happened to be cast,—always ready to perform her full duty, no matter in what sphere. If she were linked to the fortunes of an honorable pioneer or to the luxury of a Colonial gentleman, she would have no grievances. Mollie Greydon was conscious of her ability to render her full duty in life and therefore the equipoise of her countenance and the grace of her mind and body were discernible in whatever she did. She had much energy, but still had discretion to keep much in reserve. She had lively passions and a temper which any worthy person must respect, but the judgment in its use was the work of a master mind. She quarreled with no one but the open enemies of her country, and the advocates of aristocracy. Her young days had been intermingled with all the contemporary men of ideas, since she was her father’s companion, and always at his side. The social and domestic life of Dorminghurst, the intellectual atmosphere of her home, and the advantages of meeting all the distinguished men of the times around her father’s fireside, had rounded out the qualities of a gifted young woman, which she was.
The breakfast was plain and substantial, composed of hominy and milk, and sugar-cured ham, with a corn cake and a cup of coffee; also potatoes that were boiled. Roderick Barclugh had an unerring opportunity to study the bearing of Miss Mollie in all its details. He asked her several pointed questions for the only purpose of sounding her philosophy on current affairs, and on her views of life in the colonies.
Among other questions one was addressed to her with an earnest gaze from Barclugh’s penetrating eyes: