Her father smiled at her actions over his spectacles as he added his greeting.
The noise of the arrival soon brought the whole of the Bickley household to the door.
"'Tis an honor, sir, to see you here," Abram Bickley said, as he helped Benjamin Franklin from his seat.
"There is naught of an honor about it," Sarah Franklin whispered mockingly in Betsey Shewell's ear. "We have come for a play; but keep it to thyself," she added, as if afraid of her words. Then she took off her long black mitts and twirled them in the other's face.
"Won't thee make a sweet actor lady," she said, to the other girl's wonderment, as they walked together.
There were great doings at Penn Rhyn the day the most talked of man in Philadelphia and his daughter arrived. The largest guest chambers were aired, the fattest goose-feather pillows were brought out, and sweet herbs were placed in all the chimney-piece ornaments. Mrs. Bickley prated in a grandiloquent manner to her maids. A statesman on a visit to her abode gave her undisguised pleasure.
The whole house was soon in a bustle. Sarah Franklin, who sat with Betsey Shewell on a bench in one of the fast-drying paths near the doorway, heard many sounds familiar to her housewifely ears. There were the whack and thump of duster and broom. Delicious odors soon began to steal from the kitchen and mingle with the scents of revived flowers.
"There will be a party to-morrow night," she said to her companion.
"A party!" reiterated the other in surprise.
"Yes, a party! Wait and see. 'Tis part of the play I have writ with my father out of our heads." Then she began to hum a tralala. "Tell not a soul," she cautioned, and nothing the other said could get another word out of her.