I
Tulliallan
“Why, yes, you may accompany your Uncle Thomas and myself to select the plate which we plan to present to the battleship of the line, ‘The Admiral Penn,’ which the First Lord, His Grace, Duke of Bedford, has graciously named in honor of your distinguished grandsire,” said Richard Penn, pompously, answering a query addressed to him by his young son, John.
The youth, who was about eighteen years of age and small and slight, seemed delighted, and waited impatiently with his father for Uncle Thomas’ arrival. Soon a liveried footman announced the arrival of Thomas Penn, and the brothers, after embracing, started from the imposing mansion in New Street, Spring Gardens (near the Admiralty Arch), accompanied by the younger scion and a retinue of secretaries, retainers and footmen.
It so happened that the leading silversmith in the city, James Cox, was of the Quaker faith, to which William Penn, the famous founder of Pennsylvania, and father of Richard and Thomas, belonged, and was particularly pleased to be the recipient of this costly and important order. It was an occasion of such importance to him that his wife, sons and daughter had come to his place of business to witness the transaction and, perhaps, meet the aristocratic customers.
As they entered the establishment, the tradesman himself opened the door, bowing low as the two portly gentlemen, with their plum-colored coats, snuff boxes and walking sticks, entered arm in arm, followed by the diminutive John, in a long, red coat, while the minions of various degrees waited outside, clustered about the gilded chairs.
It must be understood that these sons of William Penn were not members of the Society of Friends, but had assumed the faith of their grandfather, the Admiral, and founder of the family fortunes, and young John was nominally a member of the same faith.
The portly and self-important gentlemen were soon absorbed in studying the various designs of silver services, while the restless and half-interested gaze of young John wandered about the salesroom. It was not long in falling on the slender, demure form of Maria Cox, the silversmith’s only daughter. Clad in her Quaker garb and bonnet, she was certainly a picture of loveliness, almost seventeen years old, with deep blue eyes, dark brows and lashes, fair complexion, with features exaggerately clearcut, made John Penn’s senses reel in a delirium of enthusiasm.
Ordinarily he would have become impatient at the delay in selecting the silver service, for the older gentlemen were slow of decision and he was a spoiled child, but this time he was lost in admiration and he cared not if they remained in the shop for the balance of the day. John Penn, himself, for a small lad was not unprepossessing; his hair was golden, his eyes expressive and blue, his complexion like a Dresden china doll’s, his form erect and very slim, yet few girls had fancied him, for he was selfish and not inclined to talk.
Seeing that he was not assisting his elders in selecting the silverware, Mrs. Cox, the wife, and a woman of some tact and breeding, introduced conversation with the young man, eventually drawing her daughter into it, and it was a case of love quickly on both sides.