The bells of Christ Church were pealing out the joyous chime

as the girl and Robert Dale, followed immediately by the chaise and more remotely by the wagons, cantered into Front Street. It was Tuesday evening, or in Quaker parlance, Third Day, and the streets were full of stir and bustle incident to the preparation for next day’s market.

“Oh!” cried Peggy drawing a deep breath. “How good it is to be home once more! How musical sounds the rattling of even the carriages!”

“Very harsh music, methinks,” smiled the youth.

“But preferable to the croaking frogs and screeching owls of farm life,” said the girl quickly. “If thee had been away for a year I make no doubt but that thee would be as glad to return to this dear city as I am.”

“I make no doubt of it too,” he agreed.

“Just think,” went on Peggy. “I have not seen either Sally or Betty since the Fourth of July. Had it not been for thee I would know naught of what hath occurred since then. Thou hast been very kind to us, Robert.”

“It hath been a pleasure,” returned he gravely. “I think you cannot know what a relief it is to get away from the incessant round of gaiety with which the city seems beset. I weary of it, and long to be in the field.”

“I hope that thee will not go just as we have returned to town,” remarked the maiden. “Mother and I will welcome the chance to return some of thy favors.”

“Don’t, Peggy,” exclaimed the lad coloring. “I like not for you to speak of requiting favors as though you and your mother owed aught to me. It hath been a pleasure, as I have said.”

“Thee is too modest, Robert. None the less we owe thee much, even though thee does try to deny it. How, sir, could we have come to the city without thy escort? With father away thee knows that ’twould have been impossible for mother and me to have managed the wagons. And——But oh, Robert! Aren’t the shops opened yet? So many seemed to be closed.”

“Not all are open, Peggy. Everything is fast becoming as ’twas before the coming of the British, but it will take some time to restore matters to a normal condition. ’Tis but September, and they only left in June.”

“I know,” observed she thoughtfully, “that ’twill be indeed long before we are as we were before their coming. An enemy makes sad havoc, does it not?”

“Yes,” he agreed. And then, as the memory of all that the British occupation had brought came to them, they fell into a silence.

In common with many Whig families Lowry Owen and her daughter had deferred their permanent return to the city until it had regained some semblance of its former order. Under the command of Major-General Arnold, Philadelphia, bruised, and sore, and shaken after the occupation for nine long months by the British, was striving to become once more the city of brotherly love, but the throes of reconstruction had not yet settled into the calm of its former serenity. Something of this was discernible even to the lenient eyes of the overjoyed maiden, and cast a momentary shadow over her happiness at being once more within the confines of her native city. But, as they entered Chestnut Street, the tinge of sadness vanished, and her eyes sparkled.

“I cannot wait for thee, Robert,” she called, giving her mare a gentle pat. “Perhaps the girls may be waiting.”

She smiled a farewell, and set off at speed, drawing rein presently before a large double brick house at the western extremity of the town, just across from the State House.

Before she could dismount the door of the dwelling was thrown wide, and two girls came running down the steps, and flung themselves upon her.

“Oh, Peggy! Peggy!” they cried simultaneously. “We were waiting for thee. Robert told us that we might look for thee to-day. What kept thee so long? And where is thy mother? And Robert? Is not he with thee?”

“Oh, girls!” exclaimed Peggy, returning their embraces rapturously. “How good it is to see you. Sally, thee is prettier than ever! And how Betty hath grown!”

“Oh, Peggy, I have a thousand things to tell thee,” cried Sally Evans. “I will give thee so droll an account of my adventures that thee will smile.”

“I am prepared to hear amazing things,” answered Peggy. “And I too have adventures to tell.”

“’Tis time for thee to come back, Peggy Owen,” exclaimed Betty Williams. “For what with the routs and the tea drinkings the city is monstrously gay. The Tories had it all their way while the British were here, but now ’tis the Whigs’ turn.”

“I am not so sure about that, Betty,” demurred Sally. “If there is any difference made ’tis in favor of the Tories.”

“I have heard Robert say they were favored,” observed Peggy. “It seems strange. What causes such conduct?”

“Has thee not heard?” laughed Sally, a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. “Know then, Mistress Peggy Owen, that it originates at headquarters. Cupid hath given our general a more mortal wound than all the hosts of Britons could. In other words, report hath it that General Arnold is to marry our Miss Peggy Shippen. ’Tis union of Whig and Tory, and the Tories are in high favor in consequence.”

“Perhaps,” said Peggy, “that the general wishes not to carry the animosities of the field into the drawing-room. I have heard that gallant soldiers never make war on our sex.”

“Well, he certainly is gallant,” conceded Sally. “There are many tales afloat concerning his prowess. I make no doubt but that thee has hit the heart of the matter. Ah! here is Robert,” as the youth rode up. “Peggy did not need thy assistance to dismount, sir,” she cried. “Betty and I lifted her from Star ourselves.”

“I expected it,” laughed Robert Dale. “Let me take Star, Peggy. I will care for her until Tom comes.”

“Oh, but,” began Peggy in expostulation, when Sally interrupted her.

“Let him take her, Peggy. Is he not an aide? ’Tis his duty.”

“Sally, thee is saucy,” laughed Peggy resigning the mare into the lad’s keeping. “Come, girls!” leading the way into the dwelling. “Now tell me everything.”

“First,” began Betty, “thee is to go with us to see a wonderful aloe tree on Fifth Day morn, but more of that anon. Where is thy mother?”

“She is coming in the chaise with Tom, and should be here now. Girls, you should have seen Robert caring for the wagons. He looked like a woodsman. You would have thought that he was about to start for the frontier.”

“She belies me,” said Dale entering at this moment. “I will leave it to Mistress Owen if I looked like one, though I would I had the marksmanship of a backwoodsman. Our companies of sharpshooters are almost the mainstay of the army.”

“The army?” spoke Mrs. Owen catching the last word as she came into the room unperceived. “Is there news, Robert? And what about the chances for peace?”

“The conditions have not changed, Mistress Owen, since last we spoke of them,” returned the lad. “And peace seems as far off as ever. Sir Henry Clinton still holds New York City, while General Washington watches him from the highlands of the Hudson. Along the frontier the savage warfare which began with the massacre at Wyoming continues, and these, aside from skirmishes, constitute all of action there hath been since Monmouth. It seems now to be a question of endurance on the part of the patriots, and of artifice and trickery on the British side.”

“But with the French to help us,” spoke the lady returning the greetings of her daughter’s friends warmly. “The alliance which Dr. Franklin hath at last succeeded in effecting. Surely with such aid the war must soon be brought to a close.”

“The allies have not been as effective so far as ’twas hoped they would prove,” announced he. “Many of the people are seriously disaffected toward the French, declaring that ’tis only a question of English or French supremacy. The soldiers, I grieve to say, incline toward this view, and the loyalists are doing all they can to further such belief.”

“Well, here is one who is not disaffected toward the French,” broke in Sally. “Oh, Peggy, thee should have been here to attend the entertainment which the French minister gave in honor of the king’s birthday. ’Twas highly spoke of, and everybody attended. And he was so considerate of the Quakers.”

“In what way, Sally?” asked Mrs. Owen.

“Why, he hung a veil between the ballroom and the chamber in which they sat that they might view such worldly pleasures with discretion,” laughed Sally.

“But Sally would not endure it,” spoke Betty. “When General Arnold came in she told him that she did not wish to take the veil, as she had not yet turned papist, and desired to partake of her pleasures more openly.”

“Sally, thee didn’t,” gasped Peggy.

“But I did,” declared Sally with a toss of her head. “He laughed, and immediately took me without. And the dressing, Peggy! There never was so much as there is now. Thee will thank thy stars that thee has been made to embroider and learn fine sewing, for thee will need it.”

“But is there naught but tea drinking, and dancing and dressing?” asked Peggy perplexed. “We used to do so much for the army. Is nothing done now?”

“Oh, yes;” Sally blushed a little and then brightened up. “I have set a stocking on the needles,” she said. “True, ’twas some time since, but I am going to finish it. Mrs. Bache, she that was Sally Franklin, talks of a society for making shirts and gathering supplies for the soldiers. I fancy the most of us will belong, and then there will be something beside enjoyment. Does that suit thee, Miss Peggy?”

“Yes,” returned Peggy thoughtfully. “Not that I object to the enjoyment, Sally, but I think we ought to do some of both.”

“Well, here comes the beginning of the enjoyment,” exclaimed Betty from the window. “Here is a soldier from headquarters, and I know that he bears an invitation from the general for tea. We had ours this morning.”

It was as Betty said, and an orderly was announced almost immediately.

“I cry you pardon, madam,” he said advancing toward Mrs. Owen, “for intruding so soon upon you. But a certain aide hath importuned our general so urgently that you should be waited upon directly upon your return that he dared not delay an instant beyond your arrival to deliver this invitation to you and to your daughter. He bids me welcome you back to the city in his name, and will do himself the honor to wait upon you in person before the day set.”

So saying he handed Mistress Owen two cards upon which were written the invitations, and bowed himself out.

“Oh, Robert, thee must be the aide of whom he spoke,” cried Peggy receiving her card excitedly. “See, girls! ’tis for tea on Fifth Day week. How delightsome! May we go, mother? How exciting town life is! I had forgot ’twas so gay.”

“Too gay, I fear me,” said her mother looking at the invitation dubiously. “Yes; we will go, Peggy, because ’tis right that we should pay respect to General Arnold. He hath no small task to restore the city to order, but I do not wish to be drawn into a round of frivolity.”

“But thee must let Peggy frivol a little,” protested Sally. “It hath been long since she hath been with us, Mistress Owen.”

Mrs. Owen laughed.

“A little, Sally, I am willing for. But I wish not that nothing else should be thought about. It seems as though the city hath gone wild with merrymaking. I like it not.”

“Of a truth there is too much tea drinking and feasting, madam,” spoke Robert Dale soberly. “There are many who are dissatisfied with the state of things while the army is ill-fed and ill-clothed. I for one would far rather be yonder in the field, even in misery, than here dancing attendance upon routs, and the whims of females.”

“Oh, Robert!” came in a reproachful chorus from the girls. “Thee is unmannerly.”

“Your pardon,” said the youth sweeping them a profound curtsey to hide his confusion. “I meant no offense to any present, but spoke of the sex in general.”

“Thee does not deserve forgiveness; does he, Peggy?” pouted Sally.

“If ’twere for aught else than the army, I should say no,” answered Peggy laughing. “But because he would rather be in the field for the country we shall have to forgive him, Sally.”

“Thank you, Peggy,” said the lad gratefully. “I will try to make amends for my untoward speech at another time. Now I must attend my general. Shall I bear your acceptance of his invitation, Mrs. Owen?”

“If thee will, Robert,” answered she with a smile.

“Thee is routed, Robert,” cried Sally saucily as he left them.