“Oh, thee! Thee every time,” cried she, linking her arm in his.
“Won’t you follow them, Peggy?” asked Robert.
“Why, no,” she answered in surprise. “Thee knows that I am a Quaker, Robert.”
“But not now, Peggy,” interposed Betty. “Since thee has become a Whig, and have been read out of meeting thee is an apostate. Sally and I both have learned to languish and glide at the new academy in Third Street. They are taught there in the politest manner. Thee must attend.”
Peggy looked troubled.
“I do not think we should give up everything of our religion because we are led to differ from the Society in the matter of politics,” she said. “At least that is the way mother looks at it, though I should like to learn to dance. Oh, dear! I am getting worldly, I fear. Now, Betty, thee and Robert run along while I stand here and watch you. It hath been long since I saw so bright a scene.”
Thus urged, Robert and Betty glided out upon the floor, and Peggy looked about her.
The extravagance of the costumes was beyond anything hitherto seen in the quiet city of Penn, and Peggy’s eyes opened wide at the gorgeous brocades and wide hooped skirts. But most of all did she marvel at the headdresses of the ladies. These, built of feathers, aigrets and ribbands, topped the hair already piled high upon steel frames and powdered excessively. The air was full of powder from wig and head-dress. Happy laughter mingled with the music of the fiddles, and the rustle of brocades. All made up a scene the luxury of which stole over the little maid’s senses and troubled her. Unconsciously she sighed.
“Why not treading a measure, my little maid?” queried General Arnold’s pleasant voice, and Peggy looked up to find him smiling down upon her.
“I am a Quaker,” she told him simply.