“Put up your work! It’s too pleasant a day to sew.”
Prudence looked up and saw a boy standing in front of her—her neighbor, William Brewster. The hair of each of these little Philadelphia children was cut short and square. They had the same round, rosy faces. Prudence’s short-sleeved, short-waisted frock and William’s ruffled shirt were both cut from the same cloth. It was green and white checked gingham from Deacon Wells’ store. From beneath William’s long trousers and Prudence’s skirt showed the same stout shoes with copper tips on the toes.
William ran up the steps of the piazza and pulled Prudence’s sewing.
“Oh, William!” Prudence gasped. “Be careful; you’ll soil the white cotton I fear. What ails your hands? I never saw them so stained before in all my life.”
William dropped down on the top step and held up his two brown hands in the sunlight, laughing merrily.
“You are indeed right, Prudence,” he said. “My hands need a dose of my mother’s good soft soap, but”—the boy’s voice dropped to a whisper—“all this morning I have been busy digging holes in the orchard.”
“Why?” Prudence’s blue eyes were wide with wonder. William got up now and looked all about him to see that no one was listening. Then he whispered in Prudence’s ear.
“For burying the silver,” he explained. “We packed it all in a strong box; my grandmother’s teaspoons, the silver cake basket with the design of strawberries around the edge, and the sugar tongs. We buried them all; oh, very deeply.”
“Was it necessary, William?” Prudence’s eyes were frightened as she spoke. “I know that my mother, before she had to take to her bed with the ague, planned to hide our silver in the well that is dried out. Are—are the Red Coats coming through Philadelphia soon?”
“They do say that they are coming. I am very fearful,” William answered. Then, as Prudence’s pink cheeks grew a little pale at the thought, the boy pointed to her sewing.