A Little Maid of Old Philadelphia | Page 2

thee
called," responded Aunt Deborah reprovingly. Aunt Deborah was not
very large, and her smooth round face under the neat cap, such as
Quaker women wear, was usually smiling and friendly; but it always
seemed to Ruth that no least bit of dirt or untidiness ever escaped those
gray eyes.
"Do you suppose he is at Winifred's? I wish she wouldn't let him follow
her," and Ruth's tone was troubled. Of course Winifred was her dearest
friend, but Ruth was not willing that Hero should divide his loyalty.
"Very likely," responded Aunt Deborah, "but thee must smooth thy hair,

wash thy hands and change thy apron before thee goes to inquire; and
put on thy hat. It is not seemly for a girl to run about the street
bareheaded."
"Oh, Aunt Deborah! Only to go next door!" pleaded Ruth, but Aunt
Deborah only nodded; so Ruth went to her own room and in a few
minutes was back tying the broad brown ribbons of her hat under her
chin as she ran through the kitchen.
"I do hope Mother will come home soon," the little girl thought as she
went down the front steps to the street; "Aunt Deborah is so fussy."
Mrs. Pernell had been away for a week caring for her sister who lived
in Germantown, near Philadelphia, and who was ill; and Aunt Deborah
Mary Farleigh had come in from her home at Barren Hill, twelve miles
distant, to stay with Ruth during Mrs. Pernell's absence.
As Ruth ran up the steps of her friend's house the front door opened,
and Winifred appeared.
"Oh, Ruthie! Where are you going?" she asked smilingly.
Winifred was just a month older than Ruth, and they were very nearly
the same size. They both had blue eyes; but Ruth's hair was of a darker
brown than Winifred's. They had both attended the same school until
Lord Cornwallis with his troops entered Philadelphia; since that time
each little girl had been taught at home.
"Is Hero here?" Ruth asked, hardly noticing her friend's question.
Winifred shook her head.
"Are you sure, Winifred? Perhaps he ran in your garden and you didn't
see him," said Ruth.
"Well, we'll see. We'll call him," Winifred replied, holding the door
open for Ruth to come in.
The Merrill and Pernell houses were separated by a high brick wall, and

each house stood near the street with broad gardens on each side as
well as at the rear.
The two friends went through the house, and out on a narrow porch and
Ruth called, "Hero! Hero!" but there was no welcoming bark, no sight
of the brown shepherd dog. They went about the yard calling, and
Winifred's older brother Gilbert, who was preparing a garden bed near
the further wall, assured them that the dog had not been there that
morning.
"Then he is lost! What shall I do!" said Ruth despairingly. "I do believe
the English have taken him. Only yesterday, on Second Street, when
Aunt Deborah and I were coming home, an officer patted him and
called him a 'fine dog,'" she continued quickly.
Gilbert and Winifred both looked very serious at this statement. Gilbert
was fourteen years old. He was tall for his age, and thought himself
quite old enough to be a soldier; but as his father and elder brother were
both in Washington's army he realized that he must stay at home and
take care of his mother and Winifred.
"I have a mind to go straight to High Street and tell General Howe,"
said Ruth, "for I heard my mother say that the English general would
not permit his soldiers to take what did not belong to them."
Gilbert shook his head soberly.
"That may be true; but you are not sure that your dog has been stolen,"
he said. "You had best wait a while. Hero may have wandered off and
may come home safely. I'd not ask any favors of America's enemies,"
he concluded, picking up his spade and turning back to his work.
"It wouldn't be a favor to ask for what belonged to me," Ruth answered
sharply. But Gilbert's words made her more hopeful; Winifred was sure
that Gilbert was right, and that Hero would come safely home.
"Come up to my room, Ruthie; Mother has given me her scrap-bag. I
can have all the pieces of silk and chintz to make things for my dolls,

and you can pick out something to make your Cecilia a bonnet, and
perhaps a cape."
"Oh! Truly, Winifred?" responded Ruth, almost forgetting Hero in this
tempting offer. The two little girls ran up the broad stairway to
Winifred's room, which was at the back of the house overlooking the
garden. The two windows had broad window-seats, and on one of these,
in a