“There!” declared Robert Dale when the two had completed their labor. “There will be no more elegant effusion in the paper. ’Tis finely writ and to the point. I’ll take it at once to Mr. Dunlap, so that he may put it into Saturday’s ‘Packet.’ If that doesn’t fetch your mare back, Peggy, I don’t know what will.”
CHAPTER IV—A GIRL’S SACRIFICE
| “In Being’s floods, in Action’s storm, I walk and work, above, beneath, Work and weave in endless motion! Birth and Death, An infinite ocean; A seizing and giving The fire of living: ’Tis thus at the roaring Loom of Time I ply, And weave for God the Garment thou seest Him by.” —“Faust,” Gœthe. |
“Thee is troubled, mother,” observed Peggy as she and Mrs. Owen left the yard of Christ Church where they had been attending morning service.
The meeting-house which was built for the use of those Quakers who had so far departed from the tenets of the Society of Friends as to array themselves on the side of their country had not yet been erected, and the Free Quakers, as they were called, were therefore compelled to attend worship of other churches, or content themselves with “religious retirement,” as family service was called.
“I am, Peggy,” answered the lady a look of anxiety overcasting her face. “Let us walk for a little before returning home. It may be that the air will soothe my feelings.”
Seeing that her mother wished to be left in quiet the girl walked sedately by her side, ever and anon stealing a glance of apprehension at the lady’s face. Presently Mrs. Owen spoke:
“Tis naught to make thee look so uneasy, child. I am concerned over the city, and the extravagance that abounds on every side. See the ferment that it is in! Formerly on First Day the streets were orderly and quiet. Now observe what a noisy throng fills the thoroughfares. Let us walk on. Perchance at Wicaco we may find the peace and quiet we seek.”
The quiet, sedate city of Penn had in truth lost its air of demure respectability. As the metropolis of the colonies it attracted all those adventurers of the older countries who sought to mend their fortunes at the expense of the new United States. Many also who were sincere in their admiration of the struggle for liberty had come to offer Congress their services, and taverns and inns were filled to overflowing with strangers of distinction and otherwise. Militia drilled; troops marched and countermarched; while many British officers, prisoners on parole, paraded the streets, adding a bright bit of color with their scarlet coats.
Mother and daughter passed slowly below High Street and continued down Second. Past shops they went, and the City Tavern, crowded about with sedan chairs and chaises; past the Loxley House, in which lived that Lydia Darrach who had stolen out of the city the winter before to warn the patriots of a contemplated attack by the British; past the dwelling of the Cadwaladers; past also the great house built and formerly owned by the Shippens; and on past other mansions with their gardens until finally they paused involuntarily as the sound of singing came to them. The sounds were wafted from the old Swedish church of Gloria Dei, and the two stood in silence until the singing ceased.