CHAPTER XVIIQUEEN BETTY
The girls had exchanged their wreaths of flowers as they sat down to luncheon, all excepting Ruth and Annette, who wore the ones they had made themselves, and they now made a very attractive picture as they all formed a ring around the May-pole, singing an old song that their mothers had sung when they too were little girls; a May-pole song that had been sung in England for hundreds of years.
"'Round the May-pole, trit, trit, trot.See what a garland we have got:Fine and gay,Trip away.Happy is our New May Day.'"
"Now for choosing the May Queen!" said Mary Pierce, and a little chorus of "Betty Hastings! Betty Hastings!" was the response, and Betty curtsied very low, and thanked her guests. For "Maids of Honor" she chose Ruth andWinifred, whose duties were to walk one on each side of the May Queen on her way to her throne, and then kneel beside her until she bade them rise.
While the girls had been at luncheon and dancing around the May-pole Black Jason and his friend had been busily at work behind some thick growing trees near the river.
"All ready, Missie!" he announced, as, hat in hand, and bowing low, he came smilingly toward the "Queen of the May."
A little procession formed to follow Jason, who led the way through a woodland path to a clearing that opened toward the river. In this clearing stood a big rustic chair, Betty's "throne."
Ruth and Winifred handed the Queen to her seat with great ceremony, and then one after another the girls approached the throne, curtsying low and laying their garlands at Betty's feet. Now they joined hands in a little circle and danced around the throne, singing:
"'The First of May is garland day,And every child should dance and play.Curl your locks as I do mine,And wear your summer gown so fine.'"
"THE FIRST OF MAY IS GARLAND DAY""THE FIRST OF MAY IS GARLAND DAY"
The Queen of the May asks any favor she pleases from the throne, but as soon as she leaves the throne her power ceases; so now the group of laughing girls stood waiting to hear what the Queen would ask:
"A wreath and a staffAnd a cup to quaff,"
demanded Betty smilingly, and away raced her loyal subjects to fulfil the royal demand.
It was Annette who brought the wreath of violets; Mary Pierce came with a curving branch that Jason had cut from a maple tree and trimmed into a staff, while Caroline Fraser brought a cup of cool water from the spring under the willow tree.
"We must soon be thinking of home," Mrs. Hastings reminded them, as the girls, now flushed and a little tired, seated themselves about the throne, from which Betty had descended.
"You have not sung your May-day song, Mother!" Betty reminded her, and the girls now gathered about Mrs. Hastings, repeating Betty's request.
"But it isn't really 'my' song; it is an old English May song," Mrs. Hastings said.
"'Spring is coming, Spring is coming,Flowers are coming too;Pansies, lilies, daffodilies,Now are coming through."'Spring is coming, Spring is coming,All around is fair;Shimmer and quiver on the riverJoy is everywhere.'"
As she finished singing Mrs. Hastings curtsied to the happy group, and said:
"I wish you a happy May."
When Black Jason drove the brown horses into the field, and the girls took their seats in the wagon, they all declared it was the best May-day party they had ever known, and they all thought Betty Hastings was the most fortunate of girls that her birthday came on the first day of May.
"How would you and Winifred like to sit with Jason on the front seat, Ruth?" asked Mrs. Hastings, and the two little friends smiled at each other, and replied that they would like it very much, and so were lifted to the high seat beside the good-natured Jason.
"I almost spoiled everything," Ruth whisperedto Winifred, "but Betty made it come out all right. I like Betty."
"So do I," responded Winifred, and they smiled at each other again, both quite sure that they would never again come so near to a quarrel as they had that May-day.
As they drove past a square stone house whose gardens sloped down to the river, Black Jason pointed toward it with his whip and said: "Dat de house where Capt'n Delancy live, an' he an' de oder fine English soldiers are gettin' up a great party, a kind of show like."
The girls looked well at the house from which Betty had so skilfully made her escape on the night following Gilbert's play.
"Are they going to have the party in that house, Jason?" asked Ruth.
"Landy! No, Missie. It's to be out to Master Wharton's fine place in Southwark. Folks do say as General Sir Willum Howe be gwine to leave dis place. They certain do say so," and Jason chuckled with satisfaction at the thought.
"Then will General Washington and Lafayette come here, Jason?" questioned Ruth eagerly.
"I dunno, Missie. But I reckon de English gwine to have a mighty fine party. Dere gwine to have bands o' music in boats on de river. Yas'm," and Jason chuckled at the thought of all the great preparations that had already begun for the most splendid pageant that America had seen, and about which the people of Philadelphia were wondering, for the English officers were making elaborate plans.
"I wish I could drive two horses," said Ruth, looking a little longingly at the reins and whip that Jason so skilfully held in one hand.
"Landy, Missie! Yo' jes' take hold de reins like dis," responded Jason, at the same moment clasping Ruth's hands over the leather reins. "Now hole 'em stiddy."
Ruth obeyed Jason's instructions to "look straight ahead, an' hole 'em up stiddy," and it was the happiest part of all that happy May-day to be driving Jason's brown horses, with the other girls singing and laughing on the seats behind her. But as they turned from the river road into the town Jason again took the reins. The girls were now carried each to her own home, so Winifred and Ruth were set down at the Merrills' door.
"We have had a beautiful time, Betty. We shall always rememberyourbirthday," declared Ruth, and Winnie repeated the words.
Betty smiled and waved her hand; she realized that her two little friends were thanking her for more than their happy May-day.
Hero welcomed Ruth home, and seemed to be trying to tell her something. He ran around her, barking and whining.
"What is it, Hero? What is the matter? Where is my mother?" she asked, as she pushed open the door of the sitting-room and found it vacant.
"Mother!" she called, running into the dining-room, and then heard her mother's voice calling from the kitchen:
"Come out here, Ruthie!"
Ruth stopped in the doorway with an exclamation of surprise.
"Oh, Mother! What is it?" she asked, for Mrs. Pennell was sitting in a low chair near the window, with one foot resting on a stool.
"I have sprained my ankle, Ruthie. I slipped coming in from the porch about an hour ago, and could just manage to crawl to this chair," replied Mrs. Pennell; "and now you will haveto be 'mother' for a time. Tie my apron over your dress, and start up the fire, and fill the big kettle with water."
Ruth obeyed quickly, and in a few moments had carried out her mother's directions, bringing a small wooden tub in which to turn the water when it should be heated. She could think of nothing but that her mother must be in pain, as she drew off Mrs. Pennell's slipper and stocking, filled the tub, and now gently bathed the swollen ankle.
"Remember, Ruthie, dear, when any one has the ill-fortune to sprain wrist or ankle, that hot water is the best aid," Mrs. Pennell said, as she directed the way in which Ruth should bandage the ankle.
"I am afraid I am going to make a good deal of work for my little girl. We must try and send for your Aunt Clara to come as soon as possible," she added.
But Ruth did not mind the work; as she went from pantry to fireplace, preparing toast and a dish of hot gruel for her mother her thoughts flew away to Aunt Deborah at Barren Hill, to the lustre cup out of which Lafayette had drunk, and she realized that she could notgo away from home now that her mother was lame.
After supper the ankle was bathed again, and now Mrs. Pennell thought it best that Ruth should run in and tell Mrs. Merrill of the accident, and ask her assistance. For she found herself unable to walk.
Mrs. Merrill came at once, and with her aid Mrs. Pennell was able to reach the big sofa in the sitting-room where she was made comfortable for the night.
"I will send Gilbert to Germantown early in the morning to fetch your sister," said Mrs. Merrill, as she bade her neighbor good-night.
"It is fortunate that Ruth had not started for her visit to Barren Hill," she added.
"It is, indeed. I could hardly spare her now," Mrs. Pennell responded.
Ruth listened with a feeling that there would never be any more happy days. Her mother was lame; she could not go to Barren Hill, and all her plans for visiting her father at Valley Forge, and perhaps seeing the brave young Lafayette, must be given up.
As she went slowly up-stairs to bed, she had almost forgotten the happy birthday picnic nearthe river. But she recalled what Black Jason had said of the rumor that General Howe was soon to leave Philadelphia. Just now, however, that seemed to be of little importance to Ruth. Her last waking thought was that she must be sure to get up early, very early, the next morning and have hot water ready to bathe the hurt ankle.
CHAPTER XVIIIA GREAT RESOLVE
Although Ruth was up in good season the next morning, she had only started the kitchen fire when Mrs. Merrill and Gilbert appeared at the kitchen door with a basket containing breakfast for Mrs. Pennell and Ruth.
Gilbert was all ready to start for his drive to Germantown, and, after a few words with Mrs. Pennell, hurried away.
Mrs. Merrill bathed the sprained ankle and helped Ruth's mother to a comfortable chair near the window.
"May I not put the little table by your chair, Mother, and have my breakfast here with you?" asked Ruth.
"Yes, indeed! That is exactly what I was wishing you to do, my dear," responded Mrs. Pennell; and Ruth ran away to the kitchen and brought in the hot corn bread that Mrs. Merrill had brought, the dish of porridge and the pot of steaming coffee. Then she drew achair up opposite her mother, and they smiled happily at each other across the small table.
Mrs. Pennell declared that her foot was much better.
"I am sure your Aunt Clara will return with Gilbert," she continued, "but even then I am afraid you will have to do a good deal more than ever before, Ruthie, dear, for Aunt Clara is not yet fully recovered from her illness."
Ruth felt rather proud to know that her mother relied upon her to be of so much help, and, for the moment, quite forgot the visit to Barren Hill. She told her mother of all the delights of Betty's May-day party, and when she carried the breakfast dishes out to the kitchen she was almost her happy self again.
Winifred came over and helped Ruth with the household work that morning, and early in the afternoon Aunt Clara arrived; who, in spite of Mrs. Pennell's fears in regard to her strength, declared herself quite equal to taking care of her sister and attending to the work of the house.
Nevertheless Ruth was kept busy for a number of days; she did not go very far from her mother's sitting-room, and Mrs. Pennell saidthat her little daughter was "hands and feet" for her lame mother.
Mrs. Pennell's fingers were busy making a dress for Ruth. It was of white linen that Aunt Deborah had woven herself, and brought as a present to Ruth, and Mrs. Pennell was hemstitching the broad collar and dainty cuffs.
"Your Aunt Deborah will be pleased if you have the dress to wear when you visit her," said Mrs. Pennell, a few days after her accident, when Ruth sat beside her, both busy with their needles.
"But I can't go to Barren Hill, Mother. You couldn't spare me," replied Ruth.
"Of course you must go to Barren Hill. Not just at present; but in a week or two I shall be hobbling about the house, and your Aunt Clara will stay with me while you are away," said Mrs. Pennell.
"Truly? Am I really to go to Barren Hill?" exclaimed Ruth, dropping her work, and jumping up from her chair. "Oh! I'm so glad."
Mrs. Pennell looked at her little girl in surprise. She had had no idea how much Ruth had counted on this visit, nor with what disappointment she had given it up.
"Why, my dear child, you have not said a word about your visit since I hurt my ankle. I had not an idea that you wished to go so much," she said.
"I didn't wish to go when you couldn't take a step," Ruth declared.
"Well! I think it is almost worth while to have a sprained ankle to find out what a good little daughter I have," said her mother. "I feel very proud indeed. And now I think you had best put on your hat and go and make Betty Hastings an afternoon visit. It is nearly a week since her May party."
"I will ask Winifred to go, too," said Ruth eagerly, feeling happier than she had since her mother's accident.
"You had best change your dress, dear; put on your blue chambray," suggested her mother, and Ruth ran off to her own room, singing, "Joy is everywhere," as gaily as she had sung it when dancing around Betty's throne.
In a little while she was back in the sitting-room, all ready for her visit. In the pretty blue dress, and wearing a white hat with a blue ribbon around the crown, and with her white stockings and low shoes with shining silverbuckles, Ruth was indeed a little girl of whom any mother might be proud.
Winifred was soon ready to accompany her, and the two friends started on their walk to see Betty Hastings.
As they came in sight of the Hastings house they both exclaimed in surprise. For on the steps was Betty, wearing her best hat, and the tall English officer, whose red coat Betty had borrowed for Gilbert's play, stood beside her.
"Do you suppose Betty is a prisoner?" whispered Winnie, a little fearfully.
"Of course she isn't, all dressed up in her best," replied Ruth, and at that moment Betty saw her two friends and waved her hand to them as she came down the steps beside the English officer.
"Oh, Winifred! Ruth! I am so glad you came. Now you can go with us to Walnut Grove and see the English officers practising for their tournament. Captain Harlow says you may go," she exclaimed, running forward to meet them.
Before Ruth or Winifred could reply the tall officer was beside Betty, and she now introduced him to her friends. Ruth and Winnie curtsied,with rather sober faces, and the Englishman bowed politely, and said that he should be happy to have Ruth and Winifred accompany them.
The young Englishman had lodged with Mrs. Hastings ever since the September day when the English army entered Philadelphia. He had been unfailingly kind to all the family, and when he offered to take Betty to Walnut Grove to see the preparations already well under way for the "Mischianza," as the soldiers named their famous entertainment to be given in honor of General Howe, Mrs. Hastings was quite willing for Betty to go.
"We shall be home in good season. I am sure your mothers would be willing," urged Betty, "and 'twill be a fine sight to-day, since the soldiers are to rehearse, as we did for Gilbert's play."
"Let's go, Ruth," Winifred whispered eagerly, and Ruth agreed, but with a vague feeling that she ought not to wish to be entertained by the amusements of America's enemies.
As they walked on toward Knight's Wharf, at the water edge of Green Street, where a boat was waiting to take Captain Harlow and his guests down the river to Mr. Wharton's country place, Ruth kept repeating the word "tournament"to herself, and wondering what it meant. Betty must know, she thought, for she had spoken it so easily. She resolved to ask her at the first opportunity.
A rowboat with two sailors was waiting for the captain, and he helped the little girls to the comfortable seats, and took his place at the tiller, and with a word to the oarsmen the boat moved out from the wharf and headed toward Southwark.
"What does 'tournament' mean, Betty?" Ruth whispered.
"Wait and see," laughed Betty.
"Does it mean the same as 'rehearsal'?" persisted Ruth.
"Not exactly," replied Betty, who only that very morning had asked her mother the same question. "It really means a make-believe battle," she explained, seeing Ruth's look of disappointment. "Men dress up in armor, such as soldiers used to wear, and their horses wear shields, and the men have long spears, and make-believe attack each other."
"Shall we see that to-day?" Ruth questioned.
But before Betty could answer she realized that Captain Harlow was speaking.
"I suppose you all know what the Knights of the days of Chivalry fought for?" he was saying, with a friendly smile at the three little American girls who were his guests.
"What are 'Knights'?" questioned Winifred.
"Can you answer that, Miss Betty?" asked the captain.
"Mother told me that a knight was a brave soldier, whose king gave him a sword, and then said: 'Arise, Sir Knight,'" replied Betty, while Ruth and Winifred listened admiringly, thinking their friend Betty must be the most clever girl in Philadelphia.
"Well, that is near enough," replied the young officer, "but I will tell you that in olden times knights used to have tilts, or tournaments, such as we mean to have on the eighteenth of this month. White Knights against the Knights of the Blended Rose."
It all sounded very wonderful to the three little girls, and Ruth was eager to reach Southwark, fearing that they might miss some part of this rehearsal.
The beautiful river was very still that pleasant afternoon in May, and the boat moved rapidly along, now and then passing some fishing-craftor pleasure boat, and the little girls smiled happily at each other, thinking that this indeed was a great adventure.
As the boat drew near the landing place, they could see a number of people on the wharf, and one of these Ruth at once recognized as Major André, the young officer who had introduced her to General Howe on the night when she had gone to demand the return of Hero.
Captain Harlow led the little girls to a bench on the further side of Mr. Wharton's beautiful lawn. "Stay here until I come after you," he said and hurried away.
The girls looked about admiringly. Just across the lawn from where they were sitting men were at work on a pavilion, in which the guests would be seated to view the "Mischianza." Soldiers on horseback were riding back and forth, and a trumpet call sent them all trotting away, to return immediately with long lances and shields on their left arms. Forming in two divisions they galloped forward and back, turning so quickly that Ruth and Betty both exclaimed, fearful that the riders would be thrown.
In a little while Captain Harlow came andtook his guests to visit the ballroom. From the garden they ascended a short flight of steps, and entered a spacious hall, lined with mirrors. Never had the little girls seen anything so wonderful. Wherever they looked they saw Betty, Ruth, and Winifred all smiling with delight. Captain Harlow called a servant, and in a few moments the man returned with a silver tray on which were plates of candied fruits, cakes, and glasses of lemonade for his little guests.
"It's more wonderful than the May-day party," whispered Winifred.
But Ruth did not hear her. For at that moment two officers had entered the room.
"Sir Henry Clinton will arrive to-morrow, and General Howe will soon be on his way to England," she heard one of them say.
"'Tis a pity he cannot capture young Lafayette and take him back to England with him. King George would give him a royal welcome," responded the other.
"There is some such plan afoot," declared the first speaker.
"'Capture Lafayette!'" Ruth whispered the dreadful words over to herself and all her delight and pleasure vanished. These men, eventhe kind Captain Harlow, whom the Hastings liked so well, would try their best to capture the young French Republican, America's best friend, and take him to England a prisoner. Ruth could think of nothing else. She wondered if perhaps there was not already some plan by which Lafayette would be captured. She was very silent all the remainder of the afternoon, and Betty decided that Ruth must be tired.
But they all thanked the captain very politely for their pleasant visit, as he helped them from the boat and walked with them to Mrs. Hastings' door. Ruth was eager to get home. She meant to ask her mother if she might not go to Barren Hill very soon, perhaps to-morrow. It seemed to her she could hardly wait that long; for who could tell what the English soldiers might do before warning could reach Lafayette?
For Ruth had made a great resolve: she would try to let Lafayette know that the English General meant to do his best to take him a prisoner to England. Once at Barren Hill Ruth was sure that she could find some way to reach Washington's camp and warn the young Frenchman.
CHAPTER XIXTHE VISIT
Ruth's mother and aunt listened to her account of her afternoon's adventure with interest, but when she had finished her mother said:
"I do not blame you, my dear, for accepting Betty's invitation, but I am surprised that Mrs. Hastings should permit an enemy of America's rights to become a friend, as it is evident she so regards the young English officer who lodges there."
In her heart Ruth agreed with her mother. It seemed disloyal even to have accepted Betty's invitation. Nevertheless Ruth was glad that she had gone to Southwark; for the conversation she had overheard in regard to Lafayette seemed of great importance to the little girl. She did not speak to any one of what she had heard the English officers say, but she could not explain even to herself why she had not at once told Winnie, or why she did not now tell her mother. It seemed to Ruth that it was a secret whichshe could confide only to one person: to Lafayette himself.
"May I go to Barren Hill to-morrow, Mother, dear?" she asked earnestly, as she bade her mother good-night.
"Why, Ruthie! Of course not! Your things are not ready, and we have not sent Aunt Deborah word to have Farmer Withely call for you," replied her mother in surprise. "Why are you so anxious to go to-morrow?"
"Oh, Mother! Never mind about my things. And I am sure Farmer Withely will take me," urged Ruth.
"But do you think it will be quite fair to Aunt Clara?" said Mrs. Pennell gravely. "You know there are many things you can do to help her until I am on my feet again. Be patient, Ruthie. You shall go to Barren Hill as soon as it is possible."
Ruth was ready to cry with disappointment as she went up-stairs to bed. For a moment she had been tempted to tell her mother her reason for wanting to go at once to Barren Hill, but she realized that her mother might say that a little girl could do nothing to protect a great soldier, and forbid her making any attempt toreach the young Frenchman only to repeat the careless talk of English soldiers.
"I must do it myself, in some way. I must!" thought Ruth as she prepared for bed. She wondered if Aunt Clara would not help her in her plan to go to Barren Hill.
Ruth was late to breakfast the next morning, and Aunt Clara wondered a little at her sober face, while Mrs. Pennell was troubled, thinking that Ruth was brooding over her disappointment in not going to Barren Hill.
The little girl performed her usual household duties; but when her mother suggested that she should go and play with Winifred, she shook her head.
In the afternoon she went into the yard with Hero and "Cecilia" to the seat under the maple tree. Aunt Clara noticed that the little girl sat looking across the garden as if her thoughts were far away, neglecting Cecilia, and paying no attention to the faithful Hero.
"I am afraid Ruthie is going to be ill," she said to Mrs. Pennell. "She has not seemed like herself since she got home from her visit yesterday."
Mrs. Pennell was quite sure that Ruth wasnot ill, but she was troubled that her little daughter should be so disappointed and unwilling to postpone the visit to Aunt Deborah.
"Her heart is set on going to Barren Hill, and I have told her she must wait a while," she explained.
"But why not let her go now?" suggested Aunt Clara. "She is a good and helpful child, and deserves the pleasure. I can make her things ready."
It did not take much persuasion for Mrs. Pennell to give her consent, and when Ruth came slowly into the sitting-room, in response to Aunt Clara's call, her mother said:
"Well, my dear, your Aunt Clara says that you well deserve to start for Barren Hill as soon as she can make you ready. So be on the outlook for Farmer Withely to-morrow morning, and ask him to call for you on Thursday, and to tell Aunt Deborah to expect you."
Ruth's face had brightened as her mother began to speak, but as Mrs. Pennell finished she was again almost ready to cry.
"'Thursday'!" she repeated. "That's two whole days to wait! Why can't I go to-morrow?" she said anxiously.
Mrs. Pennell looked at Ruth in surprise. Never before had she known her little daughter to whine, or seem to want her own way more than anything else.
"What is the matter, Ruth? I thought you would be so glad that your Aunt Clara had persuaded me to let you go so soon. If you say anything about going before Thursday we shall give up the visit altogether," she said.
Ruth hardly knew what to say or do. It seemed to the little girl that her delay in starting for Barren Hill meant the possibility of the capture of Lafayette. She was tempted to tell her mother the reason for wishing to start at once, but she was sure Mrs. Pennell would promptly forbid her carrying out her plan to visit Valley Forge.
Ruth managed to thank her mother for permission to go on Thursday, and to say that she would be sure and see Farmer Withely and give him the message the next morning, and then went back to her seat in the garden. She had just taken up Cecilia, when the garden gate was pushed open and Winifred came running up the path.
"Gilbert says he is ashamed of me!" declaredWinifred, "and of you, and of Betty Hastings, for going to Southwark yesterday," and she looked at Ruth a little fearfully, as if expecting her friend to be quite overcome by Gilbert's disapproval.
"I don't care if he is," was Ruth's surprising reply. "I am glad I went, and I always shall be glad. And perhaps some day Gilbert will be glad too."
"Why, Ruth Pennell!" exclaimed Winifred.
"You tell him just what I say," insisted Ruth, beginning to feel more cheerful at the thought of Gilbert's surprise when he should discover that she had saved Lafayette from capture through her visit to Southwark. After all, Thursday was only the day after to-morrow, she reflected, and the English were too much occupied in their welcome to Sir Henry Clinton to start off to capture the young Frenchman. Besides that encouraging thought Winifred had brought over a box filled with beads. They were wonderful beads—blue, all shades of blue, and sparkling red beads, and beads of shining green, and white beads as clear as dew-drops.
"You may pick out those you like best," said the generous Winnie, "enough to make you anecklace, and one for Cecilia, too," and the two little girls were soon happily occupied with the beads, and Ruth forgot all about her fears lest her warning should come too late. But when Winifred jumped up saying that it was time for her to go home, Ruth remembered that she had not told Winnie that she was to go to Barren Hill on Thursday.
"Oh, Ruth! Then you won't see all the processions for Captain Harlow's entertainment. And he said this morning when I went over to see Betty that we could go down again, the very day before it is given," exclaimed Winifred.
"I wouldn't go if I were at home," declared Ruth, "but don't you tell Gilbert that I said I wouldn't go. You tell him what I said first: 'that I am glad I went, and I always shall be glad. And that perhaps some day he will be glad too that I went to Southwark.'"
Winifred promised to deliver the message. She did not suppose it had any special meaning, but she was sure it would puzzle Gilbert.
The next day was a busy one for Ruth. Farmer Withely promised to call for her on Thursday afternoon, and wondered to himself why the little girl was so eager to visit BarrenHill. Mrs. Pennell finished the white linen dress, while Ruth helped Aunt Clara in the work of the house, packed the small leathern trunk, which was to accompany her on her journey, and last of all dressed Cecilia in her best, for she had decided, at Aunt Clara's suggestion, that Cecilia needed a visit to the country.
Mrs. Pennell could now walk a little, and not until Thursday morning did Ruth have a single doubt in regard to going away from home. But as the time of her departure drew near she kept close beside her mother, and when Aunt Clara called that Farmer Withely was driving down the street Ruth was suddenly quite sure that she could not go and leave her mother behind.
"Oh, Mother! I don't wish to go," she exclaimed, her arms close about her mother's neck.
Mrs. Pennell held her close, telling her of the beautiful time she would have with Aunt Deborah. "And, who knows! You may see Lafayette himself," she added, knowing how great a hero the young Frenchman seemed to all American children, as well as to their elders.
"I shall come home soon," Ruth answered earnestly, and then Aunt Clara called that Farmer Withely was waiting, and with one more good-bye kiss Ruth ran down the steps, and in a few moments was seated beside the farmer, while the big horse trotted down the street.
Aunt Clara had put a box on the wagon seat beside Ruth. "Open it when you are half-way to your journey's end," she had said smilingly, and Farmer Withely had smiled also, and nodded approvingly, thinking to himself that he had no better customers than the Pennell family, and being quite sure of the appetizing contents of the box.
As they drove out of the town, past the stone house, and on to the river road Ruth pointed out the field, where the May-pole was still standing, and told the farmer all the May-day sports and songs.
"Perhaps you could remember some of those songs, Miss Ruth? Now, if you could, I should admire to hear them," said Farmer Withely.
THE BIG HORSE TROTTED DOWN THE STREETTHE BIG HORSE TROTTED DOWN THE STREET
"Yes, indeed! I remember every one," said Ruth, and when she began Mrs. Hastings' song, Farmer Withely found that it was one he too used to sing as a boy on far-off May-days, and so they sang it together, their voices falling pleasantly on the sweet spring air.
Then Ruth ventured to ask if Farmer Withely had ever seen General Washington, or, perhaps, young Lafayette?
"Indeed I have. My best gray horse has now the honor of belonging to General Washington, and many a cold journey have I taken to carry food to the soldiers at Valley Forge," responded Farmer Withely, and he went on to tell of the unfaltering courage of the American soldiers through the hardships at the camp.
He told of young Lafayette's recent return to Valley Forge from Albany, and of his devotion to the American cause. Ruth listened eagerly to all he had to tell her, and the miles slipped away behind them, and when Farmer Withely pointed toward the old church, which stood near the summit of Barren Hill, and said that they had nearly reached their journey's end, Ruth declared that it had been a very pleasant journey, and Farmer Withely said he would like just such a passenger every day.
Aunt Deborah Farleigh was at the gate to welcome her little niece, and then Ruth had tobe taken and introduced to the bees, and to see two brown calves in the barnyard, and a flock of fine chickens. After that it was nearly dusk and supper was ready, and it was not until Ruth took her seat at the table that she remembered her real errand to Barren Hill.
"Aunt Deborah, the English have not captured Lafayette, have they?" she asked earnestly.
For once Aunt Deborah was startled from her usual calmness.
"For pity's sake, child! What dost thou mean?" she responded. "I have heard naught of such a thing."
Ruth gave a sigh of relief. "I just wanted to be sure," she replied.
CHAPTER XXLAFAYETTE'S VISIT
The May sun streamed warmly into the big square chamber where Ruth slept, and she awoke to the song of birds, and the fragrance of blossoming lilacs.
For a few moments she lay quite still, looking wonderingly about the room. It seemed a "shining" room to Ruth, with its whitewashed walls, and its smooth polished floor, and only a chest of drawers, a light-stand and a rush-bottomed chair for furniture.
She got up and dressed slowly, wondering if her mother missed her very much, and if Hero would go scratching and whining to her door in search of his little mistress. Aunt Deborah's house was much larger than the little brick house which was Ruth's home in Philadelphia, and as Ruth came slowly down the wide stairs she thought what a fine house it would be for little girls to live in; there seemed so much room and so little furniture.
Aunt Deborah lived alone, but the Withely farm adjoined hers, and Farmer Withely took care of her farm and stock.
"Good-morning, Ruth," said Aunt Deborah with her sunny smile, as her little niece came into the big kitchen to find breakfast awaiting her. "I trust thy pleasure in being here is as great as mine in having thee. And I have great news for thee. Thy dear father came over from Valley Forge a week ago, and was sorry enough to find thee not here. And he had great tidings for me. He says that France has now joined with America in the war against England, and Washington hopes for great aid from so powerful an ally."
"Oh, Aunt Deborah! Won't my father come again?" responded Ruth. "May I not go to Valley Forge to see him?"
"It may be that he will come again," Aunt Deborah replied thoughtfully. "And who knows but he may come with Lafayette! For General Washington is sending scouting parties about the country to discover the plans of the English. So any day we may see the troops of either army come marching up the road."
Ruth was almost too excited to eat her breakfastafter listening to Aunt Deborah's news, and even the sight of the pink lustre cup from which Lafayette had drunk seemed of little consequence. If English soldiers came marching that way Ruth knew well that their purpose would be to capture American scouting parties, and she became more eager than ever to go to Valley Forge, and again asked Aunt Deborah if she could not go. But Aunt Deborah promptly responded that such a visit was impossible.
"Tis a ride of over ten miles, and a ford to cross," she said. "Farmer Withely has no spare time at present to take thee; besides that, General Washington does not care for visitors."
Ruth looked so disappointed that Aunt Deborah added: "And who knows what day Lafayette may ride this way again? It may even be this very morning! Take thy doll and walk to the church; from there thou canst see both ways. If the English redcoats come along the river road thee must hasten back and tell me, so that we may start some one off at once to warn our American soldiers."
"Might I go?" asked Ruth.
"How could a small girl like thee cross the Schuylkill?" questioned Aunt Deborah. "'Tis most likely I should have to go myself."
Ruth now felt that she could really be of use if she kept watch from the top of Barren Hill, and she ran through the garden, and climbed up the rough slope to the little square church, from whose steps she could watch the quiet road which curved along by the woods to the riverside. She thought of Hero, and wished it had been possible to bring him with her. "Just for company," she whispered to herself, for she began to feel that she was a long way from home.
"Unless Father or Lafayette comes to-day I must go to Valley Forge to-morrow," she resolved.
But the day passed without a sign of any advancing troops, and at supper-time Ruth was so quiet and sober that Aunt Deborah began to fear that her little niece was homesick, and tried to amuse her by telling her of a tame squirrel who lived in the wood-shed and had made friends with a family of kittens. But the little girl did not seem interested; she wanted to know if the water was very deep at Matson's ford, and how long it would take to walk to Valley Forge; until Aunt Deborah wondered ifRuth really thought such a journey possible for a little girl. She recalled the visit Ruth had made to the English General in order to rescue Hero, and said to herself that she was sure Ruth would not again undertake any plan without asking permission.
"I'll wait until to-morrow," Ruth resolved, as she went to bed that night. "I mustn't wait any longer," and comforted by that resolution she was soon fast asleep.
She awoke before daylight, to find Aunt Deborah standing beside the bed.
"Get up, my dear child. Lose no time. General Lafayette is below, and I am preparing his breakfast," she said.
"Oh, Aunt Deborah!" exclaimed Ruth, sure that this was a dream from which she would soon awake.
"Hasten, child, if thou wouldst see him," and Aunt Deborah, candle in hand, disappeared from the shadowy room.
Ruth dressed more quickly than ever before, but she did not neglect to brush her hair neatly, but not until she opened the kitchen door did she realize that the strings to her stout leather shoes were unfastened.
It was broad daylight now, and the morning sunshine was all about the Marquis de Lafayette as he looked up with a smiling nod to the little girl who stood gazing at him from the doorway.
"If thee please, sir, this is my niece, Ruth Pennell, who has long cherished the hope of seeing thee," said Aunt Deborah.
The young Frenchman rose from his seat, and bowed as ceremoniously as if Lady Washington herself stood before him.
Ruth could think only of her thick shoes and the wandering strings, as she endeavored to make a proper curtsy.
Lafayette was in the uniform of an American officer, and two American soldiers were on guard at the open door. The little party had ridden over from Valley Forge under cover of the night to discover a camping-ground for a body of troops which Lafayette was soon to lead toward Philadelphia, for Washington had discovered that Sir Henry Clinton had orders to evacuate the city.
"Will you not share my breakfast, Mistress Ruth?" asked the young Frenchman, drawing one of the high-backed wooden chairs to the table beside his own.
"The child will indeed be honored," replied Aunt Deborah, and almost before Ruth could realize the great honor in store for her she found herself seated at the table. She looked up to find Lafayette smiling at her shy word of thanks.
What a wonderful breakfast for any little girl to have to remember. Ruth wished with all her heart that Winifred and Gilbert could see her.
"I have a small daughter of my own in France," said the kind young Frenchman, "and I hear that your father is at Valley Forge."
"Yes, sir," responded Ruth faintly, wondering to herself why she did not at once tell him what she had heard the English officers at Southwark say of General Howe's intention to capture him.
"Well, very soon he will be safe at home," continued Lafayette. And now Ruth resolved to speak.
"If you please, sir——" she began, but at that moment Lafayette sprang to his feet, and with a word of thanks to Aunt Deborah for her hospitality, and a smiling nod to Ruth, he started toward the door, saying:
"I have indeed lingered too long. I must lose no time in getting back to camp."
But now Ruth was out of her chair in a second; she was no longer in awe of the young Frenchman.
"I must tell you. I heard two Englishmen say you were to be captured and taken to England," she declared eagerly, running along by his side.
The young man smiled down at the eager, half frightened child.
"Ah, well,ma chere, they have been saying that for a long time," he responded lightly, "but thou art a kind little maid to warn me; and I assure thee I will remember it," and with a word of farewell he hurried across the garden, mounted his horse, and in a few moments had vanished behind the thick growing trees.
Aunt Deborah and Ruth stood on the garden path listening until they could no longer hear the sound of the horses' feet on the hard country road. Then Aunt Deborah smiled at Ruth.
"Thee should be a happy girl now, I am sure," she said, "and thee did right to tell him what his enemies threaten. Perhaps that was one reason thee was so anxious to visit Valley Forge?"
"Oh, yes, Aunt Deborah! If he had not come I should have had to run away so he might surely be warned," Ruth responded.
"I would have taken the message myself had need been," said Aunt Deborah; "but thee sees that he already knew of their wicked plan. He did but smile at such a threat."
A few days after this visit there was great excitement on Barren Hill. A troop of American soldiers, the very flower of Washington's army, commanded by Lafayette, were in camp on the hill. Farmers were bringing buckets of milk and freshly baked bread for the soldiers' breakfast, and Ruth could see and hear the bustle of the camps.
At first Mistress Farleigh and Ruth had hoped that Ruth's father might be one of the company, but as the day passed and he did not appear at the stone house they became sure that he was still at Valley Forge.
Mistress Farleigh had told Ruth not to go to the summit of the hill where the troops were camped.
"Thee may walk toward the river, or in the paths at the edge of the wood," Aunt Deborah had said, adding that she wished Hero were atBarren Hill. "Then thee could go wherever thee pleased."
But that day Ruth was content to play with Cecilia in the pleasant garden, hoping until long after sunset that her father might appear.
Neither Aunt Deborah nor Ruth slept well that night, and both were up very early in the morning. After their simple breakfast Aunt Deborah busied herself with bread making, that she might send hot corn bread to the American soldiers.
"And wilt thou not run over to Farmer Withely's and ask Mistress Withely for the loan of a covered basket of good size, Ruth," she suggested, and Ruth willingly obeyed. The Withely farmhouse was at the further side of a broad field, and hidden by a small grove of pine trees. It was a pleasant walk in the early morning, and as Ruth ran along she could see that the American troops were harnessing their horses, and that it was evident some movement was at hand.
"Oh! Perhaps I shall never see Lafayette again, and I did not help him after all," she thought.
And now another and more startling soundcame to Ruth's ears. Along the Ridge road she could hear the sound of horses' feet and the rattle of musketry.
"Perhaps it is more American soldiers coming," thought the little girl. But she felt vaguely troubled, as she went slowly on. She had just entered the little woodland path which led to Farmer Withely's when she saw a glimmer of a red coat in the underbrush.
Ruth stopped, and crouched low behind a small tree. She heard low voices, and in a moment a laughing voice said:
"We have the fine Frenchman just where we want him. He is preparing his men to receive Howe's soldiers on the Ridge road, but he does not dream that General Grant with seven thousand troops is coming up in his rear. General Howe has invited a dinner party to meet Lafayette to-night in Philadelphia."
"'Tis a fine thing to get the Frenchman," came the low response; "we'd better move farther up the hill now."
For a moment Ruth hesitated, hardly realizing the importance of what she had overheard. Then she turned and ran toward the American encampment, where she could see troops of soldiersalready moving forward toward the Ridge road.
"Oh I suppose I do not get there in time to tell him that there is an English army coming behind him," she thought.
Once she stumbled and fell over an unseen root; but at last breathless and tired she found herself facing a number of American soldiers, one of whom called out:
"Run home, child; you are in danger here."
"Lafayette! Lafayette!" she called wildly. "Tell him there are thousands of English soldiers coming up the road behind his army. The road from Swedes Ford," called Ruth.
Almost before Ruth finished speaking one of the soldiers had turned his horse and galloped away to find his commander, and tell him of this unexpected enemy. Ruth turned and hurried home. She had entirely forgotten about her errand to Farmer Withely's.