“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?”