The fishermen had left Valentine and Anna on the shore and gone home. Tired, but happy, the brother and sister went up, over sand and field and slope, and so came at length within sight of the trees that towered near home. "Whistle now!" whispered Anna, afraid yet to speak aloud. "Mother will hear and answer." Valentine whistled. Up jumped the mother Kull. She ran to the door and tried to answer. There was no whistle in her lips. Joy choked it. "Mother, are you _there_?" cried the children. "No! I'm _here_," was the answer, and she had them safe in her arms. PATTY RUTTER: THE QUAKER DOLL WHO SLEPT IN INDEPENDENCE HALL. Patty Rutter had fallen asleep with her bonnet on, and had been lying there, fast asleep, nobody knew just how long; for, somehow--it happened so--there was nobody in particular to awaken her; that is to say, no one had seemed to care though she slept on all day and all night, without ever waking up at all. But then, there never had been another life quite like Patty Rutter's life. In the first place, it had a curious reason for beginning at all; and nearly everything about it had been as unlike your life and mine as possible. In her very baby days, before she walked or talked, she had been sent away to live with strangers, and no real, warm kiss of true love had ever fallen on her little lips. It all came about in this way: Mrs. Sarah Rutter, a lady living in Philadelphia--exactly what relation she bore to Patty it is a little difficult to determine--decided to send the little one to live with a certain Mrs. Adams, at Quincy, in Massachusetts, and she particularly desired that the child should go dressed in a style fitting an inhabitant of the proud city of Philadelphia. Now, at that time Philadelphia was very much elated because of several things that had happened to her; but the biggest pride of all was, that once upon a time the Continental Congress had met there, and--and most wonderful thing--had made a Nation! Well, to be sure, that _was_ something to be proud of; though Patty didn't understand, a bit more than you do, what it meant. However, the glory of it all was talked about so much that she couldn't help knowing that, when this nation, with its fifty-six Fathers, and thirteen Mothers, was born one day in July, 1776, at Philadelphia, all the city rang with a sweet jangle, and called to all the people, through the tongue of its Liberty bell, to come up and greet the newcomer with a great shout of welcome. But that had been long ago, before Mrs. Sarah Rutter was grown up, or Patty Rutter began to be dressed for her trip to Quincy.