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It was after dark when Schmidt left Margaret at her home. As he wasabout to drive away to the stable, he said, "Those are wild girls, but,my dear child, you were so very pretty, I for one almost forgave them."
"Oh, was I?" she cried, shyly pleased and a little comforted. "But thelottery prize; I shall hear about that, and so will my mother, too. Inever gave it a thought when uncle spoke of it long ago."
"It is a small matter, Pearl. We will talk about it later. Now go in andquit thinking of it. It is shrewd weather, and nipping."
Margaret knew very well that she had good cause to be uneasy. Friendshad been of late much exercised over the evil of lotteries, and half ofLangstroth's satisfaction in this form of gambling was due to his loveof opposition and his desire to annoy the society of which he stillcalled himself a member. Although, to his anger, he had long ago beendisowned, he still went to meeting once or twice a year. He had had nosuch sacrificial conscience in the war as made Clement Biddle andWetherill "apostates," as Friends called them. He was by birthright amember of the society, and stood for King George, and would pay no wartax. But when the vendue-master took his old plate and chairs, he wentprivately and bought them back; and so, having thus paid for the joy ofapparent opposition, drank to the king in private, and made himselfmerry over the men who sturdily accepting loss for conscience's sake,sat at meals on their kitchen chairs, silently unresistant, but, ifhuman, a little sorrowful concerning the silver which came over withPenn and was their only material reminder of the Welsh homes theirfathers had left that they might worship God in their own simple way.
The one person Langstroth loved was his great-niece, of whose attachmentto the German he was jealous with that keen jealousy known to those whoare capable of but one single love. He had meant to annoy her mother;and, with no least idea that he would win a prize for her child, was nowvexed at Margaret's want of gratitude, and well pleased with the fussthere would be when the news got out and Friends came to hear of it.
When Pearl threw herself into the mother's arms and broke into tears,sobbing out the double story, for a moment Mrs. Swanwick was silent.
"My dear," she said at last, "why didst thou let them dress thee?"
"I--I could not help it, and--and--I liked it, mother. Thou didst likeit once," she added, with a look of piteous appeal. "Don't scold me,mother. Thou must have liked it once."
"I, dear? Yes, I liked it. But--scold thee? Do I ever scold thee? 'T isbut a small matter. It will be the talk of a week, and Gainor Wynne willlaugh, and soon it will be forgotten. The lottery is more serious."
"But I did not do it."
"No."
"They will blame thee, mother, I know--when it was all my uncle's doing.Let them talk to him."
The widow smiled. "Nothing would please him better; but--they have longsince given up Josiah for a lost sheep--"
"Black, mother?" She was a trifle relieved at the thought of aninterview between Friend Howell, the gentlest of the gentle, and Josiah.
"Brown, not black," said the mother, smiling. "It will someway getsettled, my child. Now go early to bed and leave it to thy elders. Ishall talk of it to Friend Schmidt."
"Yes, mother." Her confidence in the German gentleman, now for fiveyears their guest, was boundless.
"And say thy prayers with a quiet heart. Thou hast done no wrong. Goodnight, my child. Ask if Friend de Courval wants anything. Since her sonwent away, she has been troubled, as who would not be. Another's realcause for distress should make us feel how small a matter is this ofours." She kissed her again, and the girl went slowly up-stairs,murmuring: "He went away and never so much as said good-by to me. I donot think it was civil."
Meanwhile the mother sat still, with only the click, click of theknitting-needles, which somehow seemed always to assist her to think.She had steadily refused help in money from Uncle Josiah, and now,being as angry as was within the possibilities of a temper radiant withthe sunshine of good humor, she rejoiced that she owed Josiah nothing.
"He shall have a piece of my mind," she said aloud, and indeed a largeslice would have been a sweetening addition to his crabbed sourness."Ah, me!" she added, "I must not think of the money; but how easy itwould make things!" Not even Schmidt had been permitted to pay more thana reasonable board. No, she would not repine; and now madame,reluctantly accepting her son's increased wages, had insisted that hisroom be kept vacant and paid for, and was not to be gainsaid about theneeded fur-lined roquelaure she bought for her hostess and the extra payfor small luxuries.
"May God forgive me that I have been unthankful for His goodness," saidMary Swanwick, and so saying she rose and putting aside her thoughtswith her knitting, sat down to read a little in the book she had takenfrom the library, to Friend Poulson's dismay. "Thou wilt not like it,Mary Swanwick." In a minute of mischief young Mr. Willing had told herof a book he had lately read--a French book, amusing and witty. He hadleft her wishing he could see her when she read it, but self-advised tostay away for a time.
She sat down with anticipative satisfaction. "What hard French!" shethought. "I must ask help of madame," as she often called her, FriendCourval being, as she saw plainly, too familiar to her guest. As sheread, smiling at the immortal wit and humor of a day long passed,suddenly she shut the book with a quick movement, and set it aside."What manner of man was this Rabelais? Friend Poulson should have beenmore plain with me; and as for Master Willing, I shall write to him,too, a bit of my mind." But she never did, and only said aloud: "If Igive away any more pieces of my mind, I shall have none left," andturned, as her diary records, to the "Pilgrim's Progress," of which sheremarked, "an old book by one John Bunyan, much read by Friends andgenerally approved, ridiculed by many, but not by me. It seems to megood, pious wit, and not obscene like the other. I fear I sin sometimesin being too curious about books." Thus having put on paper herreflections, she went to bed, having in mind a vague and naughty desireto have seen Margaret in the foolish garb of worldly folk.
Margaret, ashamed, would go nowhere for a week, and did more than theneeded housework, to Nanny's disgust, whose remembrances were of days ofluxury and small need for "quality folks" to dust rooms. The work over,when tired of her labor, Margaret sat out in the winter sunshine in thefur-lined roquelaure, madame's extravagant gift, and, enraptured, read"The Mysteries of Udolpho," or closing the book, sailed with the_Marie_, and wondered what San Domingo was like.
Meanwhile the town, very gay just now with dinners Mr. John Adamsthought so excessive, and with sleigh-riding parties to Belmont andCliveden, rang with wild statements of the dressing scene and thelottery. Very comic it was to the young bucks, and, "Pray, Mrs. Byrd,did the garters fit?" "Fie, for shame!" "And no stays, we hear," wivestold their husbands, and once in the London Coffee-house, in front ofwhich, long ago, Congo slaves were sold and where now men discussedthings social, commercial, and political, Schmidt had called a man tostern account and exacted an apology. The gay girls told their Quakercousins, and at last Friends were of a mind to talk to Mary Swanwick,especially of the lottery.
Before graver measures were taken, it was advisable that one shouldundertake to learn the truth, for it was felt not to be desirable todiscipline by formal measures so blameless a member where clearly therehad been much exaggeration of statement.
Ten days after the dinner at Landsdowne, John Pemberton was met in thehall of the Swanwick house by Mr. Schmidt, both women being out. TheGerman at once guessed the errand of this most kindly of Quaker gentles,and said, "Mr. Pemberton, you are come, I suppose, to speak for Friendsof the gossip about these, my own friends. Pray be seated. They areout."
"But my errand is not to thee, who art not of the Society of Friends."
"I am of the society of these friends. I know why you are come. Talk tome."
"I am advised in spirit that it may be as well to do so. Thou art a justman. I shall speak."
On this he sat down. It was a singular figure the German saw. The broad,white beaver hat, which the Quaker ge
ntleman kept on his head, wasturned up in front and at the back over abundant gray hair. A greateagle nose overhanging a sharp chin, brought near to it by the toothlessjaws of age, gave to the side face a queer look of rapacity,contradicted by the refinement and serene kindliness of the full facenow turned upon the German.
"Friend Schmidt," he said, "our young friend, we are told, has beenunwise and exhibited herself among those of the world in unseemlyattire. There are those of us who, like Friend Logan, are setting a badexample in their attire to the young. I may not better state how we feelthan in the words of William Penn: 'Choose thy clothes by thine own eye,not by another's; the more simple and plain they are the better; neitherunshapely nor fantastical, and for use and decency, not for pride.' Ithink my memory serves me."
"I shall not argue with you, sir, but being in part an eye-witness, Ishall relate what did occur," and he told very simply of the rude jest,and of the girl's embarrassment as he had heard it from the mother.
"I see," said Pemberton. "Too much has been made of it. She will hear nomore of it from Friends, and it may be a lesson. Wilt thou greet herwith affectionate remembrance from an old man and repeat what I havesaid?"
"I will do so."
"But there is a matter more serious. We are told that she bought alottery-ticket, and has won a great prize. This we hear from JosiahLangstroth."
"Did he say this--that she bought a ticket?"
"We are so advised."
"Then he lied. He bought it in her name, without asking her."
"Art thou sure? Thy language is strong."
"Yes, I am sure."
"And what will Mary Swanwick do with this money won in evil ways?"
"I do not know."
"It is well that she should be counseled."
"Do you not think, sir, as a man of sense and a gentleman and more, thatit may be well to leave a high-minded woman to dispose of this matter?If she goes wrong, will it not then be time to interfere? There is not aha'-penny of greed in her. Let her alone."
The Quaker sat still a moment, his lean figure bent over his staff."Thou art right," he said, looking up. "The matter shall rest, unlessworse come of it."
"Why not see Mr. Langstroth about it?" said the German, mischievouslyinclined. "He is of Friends, I presume."
"He is not," said Pemberton. "He talked in the war of going forth fromus with Wetherill, but he hath not the courage of a house-fly. Hisdoings are without conscience, and now he is set in his ways. He hathbeen temperately dealt with long ago and in vain. An obstinate man; whenhe sets his foot down thou hast to dig it up to move him. I shall notopen the matter with Josiah Langstroth. I have been led to speakharshly. Farewell."
When Mrs. Swanwick heard of this and had talked of it to Margaret, thePearl said, "We will not take the money, and uncle cannot; and it maygo." Her decisiveness both pleased and astonished the mother. It was amaturing woman who thus anticipated Schmidt's advice and her own, andhere for a little while the matter lay at rest.
Not all Friends, however, were either aware of what Pemberton hadlearned or were fully satisfied, so that one day Daniel Offley,blacksmith, a noisy preacher in meetings and sometimes advised of eldersto sit down, resolved to set at rest alike his conscience and hiscuriosity. Therefore, on a February afternoon, being the 22d, andalready honored as the birthday of Washington, he found Margaret alone,as luck would have it. To this unusual house, as I have said, came notonly statesmen, philosophers, and the rich. Hither, too, came the poorfor help, the lesser Quakers, women and men, for counsel or a littlesober gossip. All were welcome, and Offley was not unfamiliar with theways of the house.
He found Margaret alone, and sitting down, began at once and harshly toquestion her in a loud voice concerning the story of her worldly vanity,and asked why she could thus have erred.
The girl had had too much of it. Her conscience was clear, andPemberton, whom she loved and respected, had been satisfied, as Schmidthad told them. She grew red, and rising, said: "I have listened to thee;but now I say to thee, Daniel Offley, that it is none of thy business.Go home and shoe thy horses."
He was not thus to be put down. "This is only to add bad temper to thyother faults. As a Friend and for many of the Society, I would know whatthee has done with thee devil wages of the lottery."
"'Thou canst not shoe my conscience'"]
She looked at him a moment. The big, ruddy face struck her as comical.Her too often repressed sense of humor helped her, and crying, "Thoucanst not shoe my conscience, Daniel Offley," she fled away up-stairs,her laughter ringing through the house, a little hysterical, perhaps,and first cousin to tears. The amazed preacher, left to his meditations,was shocked into taking off his beaver and saying strong words out of afar away past.
She was angry beyond the common, for Schmidt had said it was all of itunwise and meddlesome, nor was the mother better pleased than he whenshe came to hear of Offley's visit. "I am but half a Friend," sheconfessed to Schmidt, not liking altogether even the gentler inquiriesof John Pemberton.
When on the next Sunday Madame de Courval was about to set out for theSwedes' church, Mrs. Swanwick said, "It is time to go to meeting, mychild."
"I am not going, mother."
"But thou didst not go last First Day."
"No. I cannot, mother. May I go with madame?"
"Why not?" said Schmidt, looking up from his book. And so the Pearl wentto Gloria Dei.
"They have lost a good Quaker by their impertinence," said Schmidt tohimself. "She will never again go to meeting." And, despite much gentleurging and much persuasive kindness, this came at last to be her custom,although she still wore unchanged her simple Quaker garb. Madame atleast was pleased, but also at times thoughtful of the future when theyoung vicomte would walk between them down Swanson Street to church.
There was, of course, as yet no news of the _Marie_, and many bets onthe result of the bold venture were made in the coffee-houses, for now,in March of the year '93, the story of the king's death and of warbetween France and England began further to embitter party strife andalarm the owners of ships. If the vicomtesse was anxious, she said noword of what she felt. Outside of the quiet home where she sat over herembroidery there was an increase of political excitement, with muchabuse, and in the gazettes wild articles over classic signatures. WithJacobin France for exemplars, the half-crazed Republicans wore tricolorcockades, and the _bonnet rouge_ passed from head to head at noisyfeasts when "Ca Ira" and the "Marseillaise" were sung. Many persons werefor war with England, but the wiser of both parties were for thedeclaration of neutrality, proclaimed of late amid the fury of extremeparty sentiment. The new French minister eagerly looked for by therepublicans was soon to come and to add to the embarrassment of theGovernment whatever of mischief insolent folly could devise.
Meanwhile the hearts of two women were on the sea, and the ship-ownerswere increasingly worried; for now goods for French ports would beseized on the ocean and sailors claimed as English at the will of anyBritish captain.
Amid all this rancor of party and increase of anxiety as to whetherAmerica was to be at war or peace, the small incident of a girl's changeof church was soon forgotten. It was not a rare occurrence, and onlyremarkable because, as Schmidt said to Gainor Wynne somewhat later, itproved what a convincing preacher is anger.
Mistress Wynne had come home from Boston after a week's travel, andbeing tired, went to bed and decided to have a doctor, with Chovet forchoice, because Rush had little gossip. She was amply fed with it,including the talk about the change of dress and the lottery. So goodwas the effect that, on the doctor's departure, she threw his pills outof the window, and putting on pattens, took her cane and went awaythrough the slush to see Margaret. On the way many things passed throughher mind, but most of all she remembered the spiritual struggles of herown young days, when she, too, had broken with Friends.
And now when she met Margaret in the hall, it was not the girl who weptmost, as Gainor cried to Schmidt to go and not mock at two women intears n
o man could understand.
"Ah," cried Schmidt, obediently disappearing, "he who shall explicatethe tears of women shall be crowned by the seraphs." Thus he saw Gainorin her tender mood, such as made her to be forgiven much else of men andof angels. She comforted the girl, and over the sad story of the staysand garters she laughed--not then, but in very luxury of unfetteredmirth on her homeward way.
He who got the largest satisfaction out of poor Margaret's troubles wasJosiah Langstroth, as he reflected how for the first time in his life hehad made Mary Swanwick angry, had stirred up Friends, and at last hadleft the Presbyterian ministers of the trustees of Princeton College ina hopeless quandary. If the owner of the prize in their lottery wouldnot take it, to whom did it belong? And so at last it was left in MissSwanwick's name in the new bank Hamilton had founded, to await a use ofwhich as yet no man dreamed.
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