Helen smiled at her mother’s understanding of her, and the car sped northwards along the river front, now given over to business and tenements. At the Treaty Park they looked about them with their imaginations rather than with their eyes, for there was little of interest before them, while the Past held a vision of the elm tree under which the group of broad-hatted Friends discussed terms with the copper-colored natives. Lieutenant Morton’s children were interested in seeing not far away the ship building yards where many an American battleship had slipped from the ways to pursue her peaceful course upon the ocean.
Returning as they had come, they passed on Second Street the site of a house in which the Great Settler had lived, and promised themselves to remember that in Independence Hall they were to look for a piece of the Treaty Tree.
“Everything that isn’t called ‘Penn’ in this town seems to be called ‘Franklin,’” said Ethel Blue, after reading many of the signs on the buildings.
“That’s because the great Benjamin lived here for most of his life,” said James, by way of explanation. “He was born in Boston, but he soon deserted those cold regions for a warmer clime, and made a name for himself here.”
“I should say he left it behind him,” commented Ethel Blue again as she read another sign, this time of a “Penn Laundry.”
“Penn and Franklin are the two great men of old Philadelphia, without any doubt,” said Mrs. Morton, as the machine stopped before Carpenters’ Hall.
“Help! Help!” cried Tom. “I blush to state that I don’t know Carpenters’ Hall from a ham sandwich.”
Helen looked at him with horror on her face.
“Stand right here before we set foot inside and let me tell you that I am perfectly shocked that any American boy, old enough to have graduated from high school and to be going to Yale in a few weeks, should make such a statement as that!”
She was genuinely troubled about it and Tom flushed as he saw that she really was scornful of his ignorance.