“Is ‘t not?” cried Peggy. “And, Sally, I hear there is to be dancing after the tea at the general’s. It is strange for Quakers to attend such affairs. Why, does thee not remember how we used to wish to attend the weekly assemblies, and how it was spoke against in the meeting?” “It is strange,” assented Sally, “but Quakers go everywhere now with the world’s people. What was it that Master Benezet used to teach us? Something anent the times, was it not?” “‘O tempora! O mores,’” quoted Peggy. “‘O the times! O the manners!’ How long ago it seems since we went to Master Benezet’s school. Heigh ho! would I were attending it again!” “Why, Peggy Owen, would thee wish to miss this tea?” demanded her friend. “For my part I am monstrously glad that I am through with books; for now I am going to——” She paused abruptly. “But ’tis to remain secret for a time,” she added. “Sally! a secret from me?” exclaimed Peggy reproachfully. “I thought thee told me everything.” “I do; usually,” returned the other with a consequential air. “But this is of great import, and is not to be known for a few days. Oh, Peggy,” she cried, suddenly dropping her important mien, and giving Peggy a hearty squeeze. “I am dying to tell thee all about it, but I cannot until—until—well, until the night of General Arnold’s tea.” And so it came about that Peggy had another incentive for awaiting that event impatiently. ----- [1] This, in fact, was not recovered until long afterward in London. CHAPTER VI—TEA AT HEADQUARTERS “Give Betsy a brush of horse hair and wool, Of paste and pomatum a pound, Ten yards of gay ribbon to deck her sweet skull, And gauze to encompass it round. Her cap flies behind, for a yard at the least, And her curls meet just under her chin, And those curls are supported, to keep up the jest, By a hundred, instead of one pin.” —A Verse of the Day. “Will I do, mother?” asked Peggy, taking up the old fan with the sandal wood sticks, and turning about slowly for the lady’s inspection. It was the night of General Arnold’s tea, and the maiden had just put the finishing touch to her toilet, and was all aglow with excitement. The creamy folds of the silken gown well became her dark hair and eyes. The bodice, cut square, revealed her white throat so young and girlish. Her white silk mitts, long and without fingers, were held to the sleeve by “tightens.” A gauze cap with wings and streamers perched saucily upon her dark locks which were simply drawn back from her low, broad forehead, braided with a ribbon, and powdered but little. The prim little frock fell just to her ankles, revealing the clocked white stockings and dainty high heeled slippers with pearls glistening upon the buckles. “Didst ever behold a more bewitching damsel than thy daughter, Mistress Peggy Owen?” she cried, sweeping her mother a deep curtsey.