LIBRARY"^ 
 
 UNlVtRtilTY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 >*.- " 
 
 presented to the 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 Douglas Warren
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations
 
 I 
 
 "She touched her beautiful gown." Page 293,
 
 A Daughter of Two 
 Nations 
 
 ELLA GALE McCLELLAND 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 
 1897
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 BY A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 A. D. 1897
 
 DEDICATED TO THE 
 NATIONAL SOCIETY OF THE CHILDREN 
 
 OF THE 
 AMERICAN REVOLUTION
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "She touched her beautiful 
 
 gown," Frontispiece. 
 
 "He measured his length on 
 
 the deck," - Facing page 32 
 
 4 The wigs will get thee, so 
 
 there!" " " 88 
 
 "Break it. There is something 
 
 in it for thee," " " 176 
 
 "She raised her hand as if to 
 
 keep him back," " " 262 
 
 "Oh, Oak, thou hast come!" " " 276 
 
 "He took the gray bonnet by 
 
 the sides," ... 306
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "Olde Ff rendses wyth newe faces" met 
 as they neared the Tower of London, 
 and looked about for a finger-post to 
 direct them to St. Catherine s Docks, 
 and there it was in plain sight, standing 
 within a few yards of the Tower. 
 
 Beneath it stood the vender of a name 
 less toy a dried pea, loose in a pill-box, 
 which was fastened to a horse-hair and, 
 on being violently twirled, sent forth a 
 vibratory hum, which, with her shriek 
 ing voice, crying, "Only a a -penny," 
 seemed to vie with the dirge-like sound 
 from a weather-beaten sign-board, sway 
 ing back and forth on its rusty hinges. A 
 maid with her basket was calling "New- 
 laid eggs; eight a groat crack em and 
 try em," and her rival in beauty smiled 
 9
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 into the faces of the passers-by, "Buy 
 sweet lavender?" and an old woman, 
 carrying a sample of her wares, in quaver 
 ing voice asked, "Have a fork or a fire- 
 shovel?" 
 
 But those who stood together around 
 the gang-plank heeded not the London 
 cries on that morning. The faces of the 
 emigrants were pinched and drawn with 
 the unmistakable stamp of unrest. Chil 
 dren clung to the skirts of their mothers^ 
 while the mothers in turn held firmer the 
 children pressed to their breasts, as they 
 noted the deepening fog on the land and 
 over the Thames. The growing gloom 
 of the stalwart men at their sides, was 
 plain to be seen. They were struggling 
 to conceal the tumult of their thoughts, 
 while whispered words were exchanged 
 with those they were leaving behind. 
 
 A young Quakeress, who had stood 
 apart from the rest, followed her father 
 up the gang-plank. She seemed to be 
 the last passenger, when, at an angle of 
 the wharf, a man, leading a little girl, ap-
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 peared. The curious bystanders and 
 weeping friends fell back; his stately 
 mien bespoke the high-born. Only the 
 vender with the wooden leg and high hat 
 ventured near. To his obsequious 
 "Young lambs to sell; two for a penny," 
 the new-comer did not deign a glance, 
 but dragged his companion along. She 
 wished to linger and look at the toy ani 
 mal, with its fleece made of white cotton 
 wool and spangled with Dutch gilt. The 
 pink ribbon, that adorned its neck, caused 
 the black spots, serving as eyes, to stand 
 out in bold relief, until they seemed to 
 follow the child, as she looked back at 
 the grinning cripple and said, "I want 
 one, papa." 
 
 The only response she received was a 
 sudden and impatient jerk at her arm, 
 which caused her to stumble, while the 
 man, as he held her up, exclaimed in 
 French, "Can you not stand?" He in 
 creased his already rapid strides in his 
 haste to reach the ship, and the little one 
 ran to keep up with him.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 As the two boarded the vessel, all con 
 nection with the dock was cut off, and, 
 from the cries and lamentations of those 
 on ship and ashore, the man hurried 
 away. As he entered the cabin, he was 
 brought face to face with the young 
 Quakeress. The child at once attracted 
 her notice, and the young woman looked 
 earnestly into the face that was flushed 
 from running, and into the large dark 
 eyes that glistened with unshed tears. 
 The Quakeress was magnetically made 
 aware of the penetrating gaze of the 
 man. The hot blood mounted to her 
 temples at what she considered the 
 Frenchman s insolence, and she turned 
 abruptly away. 
 
 Drawing a sort of military hat well 
 over his eyes, the man sat down, and 
 told the child to do likewise. His gaze 
 followed the wearer of the gray garb, as 
 she and her father conversed earnestly. 
 
 The little girl seemed forgotten by all, 
 as she sat perched up on a chair, that 
 seemed too high for her; and she swung
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 one little foot. With the toe of the other 
 she now, and then, pushed herself back on 
 her chair. Soft curls clung to her brow, 
 still damp from the late exercise. She 
 occasionally bit the corners of her under 
 lip, betraying nervousness. When the 
 cape she wore fell back, it disclosed 
 a part of the little dress skirt in her 
 chubby hand, that held it firmly. With 
 the other she balanced herself every time 
 her toe was pressed to the floor. A 
 bewildered expression, almost ,1 fright 
 ened one, rested on her face. She was 
 intently watching the strangers, and her 
 earnestness made her appear thoughtful 
 beyond her years. 
 
 To those who noticed the dark man 
 whom she addressed as papa, he seemed 
 indifferent to everything, so wrapped was 
 he in thought. 
 
 A splashing of water, a motion of the 
 ship, a last, long farewell from those on 
 board, and the "Anne and Elizabeth" 
 set sail for America. 
 
 The day proved one of calm, peaceful 
 13
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 sailing, but the night grew black and 
 tempestuous. The ship seemed tossed 
 about on the angry billows all through 
 the long hours, and daylight afforded 
 but slight relief to the anxious passen 
 gers. The Quakers were the first to 
 take their seats at the table. The daugh 
 ter s remark to her father, that she did 
 not regret that the light of day had come, 
 found an echoing response in the dark 
 stranger s mind, as he heard it. He was 
 their only companion at the early break 
 fast, and the woman noticed that his con 
 sisted of a cup of coffee. As he left his 
 chair, the Quaker s glance followed him. 
 
 "The child must be ill; dost thou not 
 think so, Martha?" 
 
 "Wouldst thou ask the man?" 
 
 "I have no wish to meddle. His bear 
 ing is that of an aristocrat. Didst thou 
 notice the ugly birth-mark just under his 
 chin?" 
 
 "Yes, father; and I thought I ob 
 served a slight suspicion of it on the 
 child." 
 
 14
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Didst thou? Well, nature is re 
 markable in its transmissions. I presume 
 she is his, though she favors him but lit 
 tle, aside from the birth-mark, which is 
 conclusive evidence to my mind." 
 
 Others now began to crawl, rather than 
 walk, from their bunks, and the Quaker 
 and his daughter relapsed into silence. 
 Fiercer and fiercer grew the storm, and 
 fear now blanched the faces of nearly all 
 on board. As the day advanced, the 
 wind seemed to increase in its velocity, 
 and the commander did what he could to 
 encourage and sympathize with the panic- 
 stricken. Strong men could not keep 
 their feet ; and women and children be 
 came too ill to care for life, or what was 
 going on around them. In the gather 
 ing gloom of twilight, the dark stranger 
 approached the Quakeress. She felt his 
 presence rather than saw him, as she sat 
 on deck, heedless of the raging billows. 
 The rain had ceased, but the elements 
 appeared to be striving to do their worst. 
 
 Addressing her, the man said, "My 
 15
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 child is very ill. Will you go to her? 
 I have done my best. She seems to be 
 sinking from this seasickness." Rising, 
 the woman moved away. He supposed, 
 at first, it was to avoid him, as she did not 
 reply, but a moment later he saw her stop 
 before the Quaker. Divining that it was 
 her father, and that she sought his advice, 
 he, too, drew near to the old man. 
 
 "Thou wouldst have my daughter go 
 to thine; lead the way." With these 
 few words of acquiescence to his request, 
 the three left the deck. They found the 
 little girl unconscious. Still silent, the 
 Quakeress went out, and speedily returned 
 with a medicine case. 
 
 "Wilt thou consent to my treatment 
 of the child?" she asked, addressing the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Do what you will; I am powerless." 
 
 The old Quaker took his seat not far 
 from the child, around whom were gath 
 ered the actors to a strange drama. The 
 dark man leaned against the side of the 
 ship for support, as it tossed and rolled 
 16
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 on the rough sea, and watched the young 
 nurse. Her soft touch seemed to have 
 magic in it; the little breast rose and fell, 
 and nature, aided by restoratives, was 
 making a tremendous effort to assert 
 herself. 
 
 "Wilt thou tell me her name?" the 
 Quakeress asked, for the first time look 
 ing straight into the dark eyes of the lit 
 tle girl s father. 
 
 "Arabella," he said; and seemingly it 
 was all he wished to say, for he immedi 
 ately left with the remark, "I must get 
 air." 
 
 As the woman bathed the little suf 
 ferer s brow she studied intently her 
 face. The eyes, she had noticed on first 
 seeing the child, were dark, like her fa 
 ther s. "But the features," she said, as 
 she communed with herself, "are purely 
 English, and the light hair with the dark 
 brows seems strange." 
 
 "What clidst thou say, Martha?" 
 
 The daughter gave a little start at the 
 sound of her father s voice.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Oh, I must have been thinking 
 aloud;" and she repeated what had been 
 passing through her mind. 
 
 "But her father is a Frenchman. 
 Didst thou not hear him speak?" 
 
 "Yes, but the child seems English." 
 
 Without appearing to notice her last 
 remark, he said, "Dost thou think she 
 will recover?" 
 
 "If it seems best to the Lord." 
 
 "Thou hast said aright. See, already 
 the vital spark has been rekindled." 
 
 As the voices ceased, the little patient 
 opened her eyes and gazed at her at 
 tendant. She appeared frightened, and 
 turned her head as though in search 
 of some one. Martha laid her hand 
 soothingly, gently, on the little head, 
 as she said, "If thou movest, thou wilt 
 be ill again." A touching silence fol 
 lowed the warning, for the pathetic face 
 of the child showed she was deeply 
 moved. At last a great sob shook her 
 little form, and she cried, "I want my 
 mamma." 
 
 18
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Wouldst thou like me to speak to 
 thy father?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I want my mamma dear." 
 
 Arabella ! The word was spoken by 
 the dark stranger who had just appeared. 
 
 Only her name! The little hands cov 
 ered her face to hide the quivering lips. 
 The next moment the marvelous self- 
 control of the child showed in her an 
 gelic expression. Her eyes now turned 
 to the man, as she exclaimed, "Papa!" 
 Then, as he did not move, her arms were 
 outstretched to him, as she said, "Kiss 
 me, papa." 
 
 Without a responsive word or action 
 to the little invalid, he addressed himself 
 to her nurse: "I will relieve you of your 
 watch. I am deeply indebted to you for 
 the service you have rendered me." 
 
 Martha rose from the side of Arabella s 
 bunk, where she had been sitting. An 
 irresistible impulse moved her to bend 
 over the child and kiss the pale cheek, as 
 she tenderly smoothed back the soft curls 
 that fell over her face, leaving it half in 
 19
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 shadow. The Quakeress felt humiliated 
 by the man s dismissal. Ought she to 
 have left before? 
 
 "Will you come back soon?" asked 
 the little girl. 
 
 "I will if thou needest me: and if thou 
 requests me," addressing herself to the 
 man. "She is not fully recovered. She 
 had only regained consciousness as thou 
 earnest in." 
 
 A puzzled, questioning expression 
 passed over the countenance of the man. 
 He felt uneasy in this woman s presence. 
 Her gentle, persuasive manner annoyed 
 him. "What does she think?" he won 
 dered. Then his cold, stoical manner was 
 again apparent, as he watched her gather 
 up her medicines. He moved nearer the 
 bunk and gazed earnestly at the little in 
 valid. 
 
 As Martha was about to depart, he said, 
 You ought to leave this place. The air is 
 poison. I am obliged to you for your as 
 sistance, and hope it may continue, if my 
 daughter is to be ill all the time we areout. 
 
 20
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I am willing to aid thee. If the 
 child needs me, thou canst let me know." 
 
 The old Quaker had been a quiet 
 spectator of the passing scenes. For 
 some time after leaving the Frenchman, 
 he and his daughter sat in silence on the 
 deck of the ship. Martha was the first 
 to break the stillness. 
 
 "Father, what thinkest thou of the 
 Frenchman?" 
 
 "That the less thou hast to do with 
 him the better. I am convinced he has 
 not that integrity to which we have been 
 accustomed. Didst thou notice the 
 fierce look he gave the little girl, when he 
 heard her talking to thee?" 
 
 "I did, and I, like thee, am led to 
 feel that he has no love for her. Thou 
 art so convincing in speech that I do wish 
 thou couldst persuade the man to allow 
 me freedom with the child. I could 
 bring her back to health if I were given 
 the opportunity." 
 
 "I am of the belief that thou wilt be 
 called again."
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 Even as the Quaker spoke, the French 
 man appeared. "Arabella has fainted; 
 may I ask you to come again." 
 
 A glance only was exchanged between 
 Martha and her father, as she hastened 
 to the child. True, she was uncon 
 scious. After making use of the restora 
 tives at hand, without the desired result, 
 Martha said, "Hadst thou not better see 
 if there is a physician aboard?" 
 
 The man, with an impatient manner, 
 replied, "I prefer your treatment to that 
 of a charlatan." 
 
 The Frenchman s manner was so col 
 lected in the presence of what had the 
 appearance of death, that the young 
 nurse closed her eyes for a few seconds, 
 while she indulged in supplication, more 
 that the father s hard heart might be 
 softened than for the child s life. 
 
 After a vigorous chafing of the little 
 hands, so limp and helpless, and the 
 various remedies applied, the Quakeress 
 was rewarded by seeing her eyelids 
 quiver. A deep breath followed the
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 muscular action, and again the little 
 patient gazed into the kind face. 
 
 "Thou must not speak," was the ad 
 monition. "Thou art too weak. I will 
 sit by thee, now, and see thou dost not 
 try to rise." 
 
 For three days and nights the young 
 woman watched beside the little invalid. 
 Then, at last, the sun broke forth from 
 its imprisonment behind the clouds. 
 The troubled waters bore the long, low 
 swell that belies the remembrance of the 
 turbulent sea. Sitting apart from the 
 others, who thronged the deck to get a 
 breath of the life-giving air, was the 
 Quakeress, calm and well. The com 
 mander said she was the only woman on 
 board, who could be a sailor, all the others 
 having succumbed to sea-sickness. Their 
 pale faces and woe-begone attitudes, 
 Martha said, affected her more than the 
 rough sea, so she took Arabella to a 
 remote corner of the deck. The little 
 girl was wrapped in one of her shawls and 
 tenderly held in her arms. 
 2 3
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 The ship was too crowded for them to 
 remain long free from curious, question 
 ing looks. The child s thin hands were 
 clasped on the outside of the gray cover 
 ing, and a pitiful picture was portrayed 
 in them. 
 
 The Frenchman knew that Arabella 
 was safe from the inquisitiveness of 
 other passengers while in the arms of one 
 of the then traduced sect known as 
 Quakers. So he left the two alone ap 
 parently, but his eye was ever watchful, 
 so that he might be near if they were 
 in conversation. About noon he ap 
 peared at Martha s side. "How is she?" 
 he inquired in terse tones. 
 
 "About the same. She has not 
 moved." 
 
 At this instant a slight shrinking of the 
 little form did not escape Martha. It lent 
 fervor to the quiet manner of the Quaker 
 ess that did not invite further intrusion, 
 and the Frenchman walked away. The 
 child raised her delicate hand to her nurse s 
 bonnet, and drew the face down to her. 
 24
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Please tell me your name?" 
 
 "Martha." 
 
 "Oh, I must not call you that. Papa 
 would not like it." Then cautiously 
 looking round, and seeing no one, she 
 whispered, "Papa used to love me. I do 
 not think he does now. I must have 
 been a very wicked little girl. Made 
 moiselle used to tell me about wicked 
 children. Do you think I am wicked?" 
 Then before an answer could be given, 
 "If I try to be very good, will papa kiss 
 me again?" 
 
 Arabella seemed to have exhausted 
 herself with her rapid questions, and 
 nestled her head close to Martha s heart. 
 
 "Thou art good, child. Thou hast 
 been sick. When thou art well again, 
 thy father will appear the same to thee. 
 Oh ! here is some broth for thee ; drink 
 it, and thou wilt feel better." 
 
 The words proved true, and as the 
 days passed Arabella grew strong. 
 
 "Papa," she said one day, as she 
 leaned against his chair, while she 
 25
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 watched Martha in the distance, "what 
 makes the lady, who took care of me, 
 wear such queer clothes?" 
 
 Have you not learned she is a Quaker? 
 Keep away from her now you are well. 
 Ask me no more questions," and he re 
 lapsed into his accustomed oblivion to 
 the surroundings that he so despised. 
 
 The Quaker and he seldom conversed, 
 for the old man was as anxious to keep 
 away from the Frenchman as that gentle 
 man was to keep from him. To Martha 
 he said "I am convinced he did not wish 
 to tell me the child s age, but disliked to 
 refuse before her. I am satisfied he 
 spoke the truth when he replied Almost 
 seven, for the little one said, Just 
 seven, papa. She is very young to 
 be left without a mother. I wish he 
 did incline to more tenderness toward 
 her. 
 
 During the long voyage Martha and 
 
 Arabella were not much together, as it 
 
 seemed impossible for the Quakeress to 
 
 talk to the little girl without that appar- 
 
 26
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 ent fear on her part that marked all her 
 actions. 
 
 At the voice of the dark man she 
 would start and give him a questioning 
 glance, and then in soft, sad tones she 
 would whisper, "Papa used to love me." 
 
 At last land was sighted, and Martha, 
 tenderly placing an arm about the child, 
 asked the first question concerning her life : 
 
 "Arabella, what is thy name?" 
 
 Looking up into her face, she replied, 
 "You just said it." 
 
 "I mean thy last one, thy father s 
 name." 
 
 "Oh, I know! Mademoiselle used to 
 call my mamma Madame." 
 
 In desperation she exclaimed "What 
 is thy father s?" 
 
 "Monsieur." 
 
 "No, no. Your mother was Madame 
 what? Smith?" 
 
 Then Arabella pointed one little finger 
 
 at her and said, "Now I know. Truly I 
 
 do, cause mamma took my hand and 
 
 helped me to write to papa," as she 
 
 27
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 spoke his name, she lowered her voice to 
 a whisper. 
 
 "She taught me to spell it, too. 
 R-a-o-u-1 d-e M-e-r-a-s. And, oh, she 
 used to get such long letters from him, 
 and she used to kiss them." Then, as 
 Martha looked with incredulous eyes 
 upon her, Arabella said, "Oh, yes, she 
 did, cause she said they were sweet." 
 
 She had forgotten the admonitions as 
 she prattled on. "My papa used to take 
 me in his arms and kiss me, and tell me 
 I was sweet, too. And then I told him 
 I loved him a gardenfull, cause it grew 
 all the time." 
 
 "What did thy father say?" asked the 
 young woman. 
 
 "That I was making b lieve; but," 
 she said sorrowfully, "papa does not love 
 me now." 
 
 The interested faces, gazing so intently 
 into each other, did not pass unob 
 served. 
 
 "Arabella, I want you." The voice 
 was cold and harsher than usual. 
 28
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The child sprang forward ; then, as the 
 impulse seemed to seize her, she clung 
 to Martha, and whispered, "I am afraid; 
 can you come, too?" 
 
 Again the man spoke: "Arabella." 
 
 This time he moved toward her. Pale 
 and trembling she went to him. 
 
 "Of what were you talking?" asked 
 the man. 
 
 For a moment the child seemed to 
 swallow a great sob. Her thin face, 
 made so by illness, grew livid, and the 
 little lips closed tight. She held her 
 handkerchief in one hand, and with the 
 other twisted one corner of it. The 
 large black eyes had almost a wild ex 
 pression, as she stared at the man she 
 called papa. 
 
 The people about stood back to watch 
 the outcome of it all. 
 
 The man caught her by the shoulder, 
 and exclaimed, in French: "What were 
 you talking about to that gossiping 
 woman?" 
 
 No reply came from her white lips. 
 29
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Answer me, will you? or I will" he 
 raised his arm as if to strike her, while 
 he was almost as pale and trembling as 
 she. But the cause, how different! 
 The spectators saw depicted in his face 
 the coward s anger; and the brute force, 
 which it was a father s right to use, was 
 shown in his very attitude. The child 
 now shook as with a chill, her teeth chat 
 tered, and when she tried to speak no 
 sound came. 
 
 He repeated, "Tell me of what you 
 were talking." Still the man s arm 
 swung above her head as if he had met a 
 man in open battle, and not a child. 
 
 Another heroic effort, and in English, 
 the little girl replied, with a steadfast and 
 now fearless gaze into his face, "Papa, 
 dear, we were talking about you." 
 
 The veins in his neck seemed ready to 
 burst as the angry blood mounted to 
 the very tips of his ears, and he ex 
 claimed, "How dare you defy me? Who 
 else?" 
 
 He must have loosened his hold, for,
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 with the reply "Mamma," Arabella 
 sprang back to avert the blow he would 
 have given. Martha came at this oppor 
 tune time, being unable to resist longer 
 the temptation, that had seemed to be 
 consuming her, to protect the helpless 
 one. 
 
 Just at the moment the little girl 
 eluded his grasp, he took a step forward 
 to regain his hold of her, and lost his 
 balance. The place where he stood was 
 slippery, and before he could recover his 
 poise he measured his length on the 
 deck. 
 
 No one moved for an instant. Breath 
 less silence followed the scene just en 
 acted. Martha was the first to bend over 
 him. He had fallen on his side as his 
 foot went from under him, and the out 
 stretched arm he had used to break his 
 fall was now lying beneath him. He had 
 struck his head also, and, while not wholly 
 unconscious, he was dazed. The Quak 
 eress spoke to him. He did not reply, 
 but when two or three of the passengers
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 offered their assistance he shook their 
 hands from him, and, without a word, 
 rose. The men fell back, and when the 
 Frenchman put his hand to his head and 
 looked about for some support, not one 
 of those stalwart Englishmen placed a 
 chair for him, but moved away. 
 
 Martha saw that he was suffering. He 
 attempted to put out his right hand 
 toward his victim, who stood apart a lit 
 tle from the excited group, but he could 
 not, and he fairly hissed, "Arabella, fol 
 low me!" She did not move. Again 
 that tyrannical glance met her eyes. 
 
 Then the Quakeress spoke. "A mo 
 ment with thee." 
 
 "I have no time," was the quick re 
 joinder. 
 
 At this point in the dialogue Martha 
 tenderly placed her hand on Arabella s 
 head, as she said, addressing herself to 
 the man, "When thou didst ask me to 
 do thee a favor I found time. If thy 
 birthright inheritance had given thee the 
 honor of a Friend, thou wouldst not have 
 32
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 spoken those words. Thou hast the bear 
 ing of a nobleman but the spirit of a serf. 
 
 His rage was greater than at any time 
 before, and it is difficult to conjecture 
 what might have happened if, in a 
 thoughtless moment, he had not at 
 tempted to move his right arm. The 
 pain caused him to give up the battle 
 and look to his injury. He swayed when 
 he walked, as though too weak to stand, 
 and Martha placed a chair for him, and 
 gave him water. 
 
 The old Quaker, knowing nothing of 
 what had occurred, now came forward. 
 
 "Can I render thee a service?" 
 
 For a moment a savage look over 
 spread the dark man s countenance; then 
 as suddenly he replied, "I wish you 
 would see if my arm is broken." 
 
 By this time Arabella was in Martha s 
 arms in the cabin. Soothing words were 
 spoken to reassure the frightened child. 
 "Arabella, it is now but a short time be 
 fore thou and I part. Thou must re 
 member me; wilt thou, always?" 
 33
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Oh, yes, Martha." And throwing her 
 arms around the woman s neck, she cried : 
 "Oh, if my papa only would love me 
 again ! Will he be good to me, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "Thou must be a good child." 
 "Wilt thou come to the stranger?" 
 asked the old man. 
 
 "For what dost thou need me, father?" 
 "The Frenchman s arm is badly 
 bruised. Bring thy medicine case and 
 bandages." 
 
 "Stay thou here, child, and I will come 
 to thee quickly," said Martha. 
 
 As she followed the old man to where 
 the patient sat, the dark stranger looked 
 up. "I seem to be at your mercy again. 
 This motley crowd does not number a 
 doctor whom I can trust as I do you." 
 The Quakeress was as stoical as he. 
 "What wouldst thou have me do?" 
 "Something for my bruised arm." 
 The woman made no reply as she set 
 about her task, and when he was relieved 
 by the tight bandage and sling, the man 
 34
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 said: " Thank you; if I can render you a 
 service at any time I shall be pleased to 
 do so." 
 
 "Wilt thou forget, thinkest thou?" and, 
 before he could answer, "The recompense 
 is thy promise not to treat the child so cru 
 elly. Arabella was not at fault. I asked 
 thy name that I might remember the lit 
 tle one. Is the explanation sufficient to 
 protect her?" 
 
 "I promise not to trouble her." 
 
 As Martha left him she hastened to 
 comfort Arabella. She found her fast 
 asleep on her bunk. To gain the con 
 sent of the Frenchman to leave her there 
 until morning was not difficult, for he 
 preferred to pass the sleepless night be 
 fore him alone. 
 
 A heavy fog had settled down upon the 
 sea, and no one could tell when they 
 would reach land. Morning, however, 
 found them putting into port, and Ara 
 bella, led by her friend, was taken to find 
 her father. To the voice of the child 
 calling "Papa," there came no response. 
 35
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 She climbed and looked on the bed ; he 
 was not there. 
 
 "Thou wilt find him on deck or at 
 breakfast. Come, I will take thee." 
 Meeting her father, she learned that he 
 had not seen the man, although he had 
 been outside and around about. "Thou 
 hadst better see. His bed has not been 
 disturbed." 
 
 "America!" cried a chorus of voices. 
 
 The pulling, the mooring of the vessel, 
 the landing, all caused the greatest ex 
 citement. 
 
 "What is the trouble with thee?" ex 
 claimed the Quakeress, as her father re 
 turned, much agitated. 
 
 "The man is not to be found." 
 
 "Not to be found!" repeated Martha. 
 "He must be here. Well, he will come 
 to get the child." 
 
 All who had not left the cabin were 
 asked if they had seen the stranger du 
 ring the morning, but to the commander s 
 query only one reply was elicited, "No, 
 not since he fell." The search was kept 
 36
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 up to no purpose, and finally, the Quaker 
 asked that the facts of the case should 
 be written out and signed by a number 
 of passengers and the officers of the boat. 
 Two copies were made, one to be given 
 to the authorities at Philadelphia, and the 
 other to the person who should assume 
 the care of Arabella. While this was 
 under discussion Martha came up. 
 
 "Is it the child thou wert speaking 
 about?" addressing the commander; "if 
 so, I will take her." 
 
 "But can I permit it. She belongs to 
 the vessel and his Majesty"- 
 
 At this point a packet was brought 
 forth, bearing the Quakeress name. It 
 had been discovered lying on Arabella s 
 small box. Hastily opening it, Martha 
 read aloud: "I give Arabella into your 
 keeping until I come for her. I am 
 going to find a surgeon. My arm needs 
 attention. Take the child and all that 
 is hers with you, and leave your address 
 at the ship s office." That was all. 
 
 "What is his name?" was now asked by 
 37
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 those present. The record of passengers 
 only revealed "Monsieur and daughter." 
 
 As the curious ones lingered, anxious 
 for new developments to the mystery, 
 they heard the question asked again and 
 again by the Quaker and the crew, "How 
 did he disappear?" and the reply, "It 
 must be he fell overboard." 
 
 Then the old man said, "Just notify 
 me at the Friends meeting-house if her 
 father is found ; and joining his daughter 
 and the little girl, they went on shore. 
 
 "I can do no more, Martha. This is 
 most strange." 
 
 "Shall I see my papa very soon?" 
 asked Arabella. 
 
 Brought to realize the fact that she was 
 a listener they ended their conversation. 
 And the Quakers, with their new responsi 
 bility, started to find their friends, who 
 waited and watched for them to come to 
 the new life in a new world.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 About fifty miles from Paris was the 
 
 quaint and picturesque village of L . 
 
 In the gabled windows of the unpreten 
 tious houses stood jars of violets the 
 flower so dear to the heart of the French 
 man. Here and there a large cat, also, 
 had her place behind the twining vines 
 that clung to the stone cottage, and soft 
 ened the light that fell upon the blossoms. 
 Its inhabitants, judging from appearances, 
 knew little or nothing of the world be 
 yond their homes. They were not a curi 
 ous people, for little happened in their 
 inner or outer lives to arouse that trait in 
 their ingenuous natures. 
 
 A small church, with a cross above the 
 entrance, and a shop or two, met all the 
 needs of the dwellers in this hamlet. 
 
 About three miles to the west of the 
 39
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 village sanctuary was a small chateau. 
 Only the very old men and women about 
 the country could remember when it had 
 been inhabited. They told the story of 
 some romance connected with it to the 
 children about their knees, while the 
 boys and girls, in turn, lowered their 
 voices when they approached it, and kept 
 to the far side of the road that lay by its 
 gates. 
 
 Now and then some child would ven 
 ture to the wall surrounding it, and, step 
 ping on its craggy surface, climb to a 
 height that would permit him to peep 
 over. The head went, oh, so cautiously 
 up, but suddenly down, as the eye met 
 its weather-beaten windows and open 
 doors that ever and anon sent forth a 
 sort of human wail. The howling winds 
 re-echoed the cry in an invitation to the 
 beetles, bats, hawks, and any other forest 
 tramp, to take refuge within its ruins. 
 
 Eight years before this story opens, a 
 Frenchman had surprised these simple 
 folk by looking about the old chateau. 
 4 o
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Then, when men were seen at work on 
 the crumbling and desolate house, the 
 curiosity of the natives began to develop, 
 and it reached even the good fathers be 
 hind the church walls. There is no slan 
 der in the accusation, for the long dor 
 mant bump of inquisitiveness was seen to 
 grow even on the bald heads of the old 
 men. 
 
 But time only partially satisfied the 
 thirst for knowledge. The old women 
 said it was quite unsatisfactory not to 
 enter the doors of the chateau. 
 
 The warm sun had touched again the 
 paths, which had been overgrown with 
 weeds and briars for so many years. 
 Fairyland, it seemed, now met the eye of 
 not only the boy but the curious man, 
 who did not hesitate to catch a glimpse 
 of the sequestered place. A stream of 
 pure water ran through the grounds, and 
 on cither bank grew the rarest flowers. 
 
 Within the chateau, and overlooking 
 the stream, was an enchanted chamber 
 with its boudoir. Every detail within 
 4*
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 this room showed the most tender 
 thoughtfulness for the occupant, who 
 stood gazing out of a window on a 
 bizarre garden. 
 
 A man walked to and fro in the rose- 
 path just beneath. He was accompanied 
 by a little girl, fair to look upon; her 
 hands clasped his, and, without much 
 seeming effort, he lifted her. A merry 
 laugh followed the feat, and she turned 
 her large, dark, lustrous eyes up to the 
 gaze of the man and said, "Do it again, 
 papa." 
 
 "Arry, you require too much 
 strength;" and he placed her on his 
 shoulder, to the child s infinite delight. 
 She showered kisses upon his hair. 
 
 "See here, sweetheart, I have come a 
 long way for your seventh birthday. I 
 do not want those on the top of my 
 head." 
 
 The flaxen curls were laid against his 
 cheek; then suddenly looking up she said : 
 "Papa, what makes that queer place 
 under your chin?" 
 
 4 2
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Let me see, Arry, you have asked 
 that question how many times?" 
 
 Then, as she saw a lady approach, she 
 forgot all else, and exclaimed: "Oh, 
 here s mamma." 
 
 As the woman joined them, she took 
 the small foot resting on the arm of the 
 child s father, as she said, "You are only 
 a baby, after all, Arry." 
 
 "No, mamma dear, I se taller than 
 you now;" and she drew herself up on 
 her father s shoulder, where she was still 
 perched, as she continued, "truly I am 
 now, cause I am seven to-day." 
 
 "Arry, you make my shoulder lame. 
 I must put you down," and he suited 
 the action to the words, as he said, Have 
 you all you want for your birthday, my 
 daughter?" 
 
 The child was now walking between 
 the parents, each holding a chubby 
 hand. 
 
 At the question from her father, she 
 drew her hand from his, and clasped a 
 locket suspended from her neck. 
 43
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "This is the nicest, cause you re 
 pretty." 
 
 Hush, Arry ; you make even a French 
 man blush with such flattery." 
 
 "What s that, papa?" 
 
 "Never mind, little girl, about explan 
 ations. You are far too old now for 
 your years." 
 
 "Yes, Raoul, that comes from having 
 only adults for companions." 
 
 The child interrupted the conversation 
 that had taken a serious turn, by saying, 
 "Why, papa, may I not show it to any 
 one?" 
 
 "Arry, I said not until I gave you 
 permission. Do you remember?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I never, never, never will till 
 you say so. Am I good?" 
 
 "Indeed you are, and my darling lit 
 tle daughter. Now go to Mademoiselle;" 
 and after kissing the child fervently, he 
 dismissed her. 
 
 Father and mother remained in the 
 garden until evening shadows warned 
 them of the gathering dampness. Then 
 44
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 they moved toward the chateau. Ten 
 derly, confidingly, the wife laid her hand 
 in that of her husband, as together they 
 went to her boudoir. Drawing a divan 
 before an open window, they watched 
 silently the rising moon, which cast a blue- 
 gray hue on the road that lay beyond. 
 Through a low fence that divided two 
 parcels of land a tender vine was inter 
 laced. A gleam of light here and there 
 touched the purple fruit that hung from it. 
 
 A deep sigh escaped the wife, as her 
 eye rested on this picture of nature. 
 Her husband turned his face toward her. 
 "Why that sigh, my loved one?" 
 
 "Oh, Raoul, I was thinking of some 
 thing Arry said to-day that has found an 
 echo in my heart." 
 
 "What is it, love? Arry must beware 
 of such serious conversation." 
 
 He placed his hand beneath her chin 
 and lifted the drooping head. Then he 
 said, more earnestly, "Tell me, darling, 
 what troubles you?" 
 
 "Raoul, this seclusion and secrecy 
 45
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 weighs heavy on my heart. Arry is now 
 old enough to need greater advantages 
 than we can give her here." 
 
 "How so, my own? You can have 
 anything, everything you desire." 
 
 The wife did not reply for a few mo 
 ments, as she sat with her hands clasped 
 aimlessly before her. 
 
 "Can you not tell me what is missing 
 to complete your happiness?" asked the 
 husband. 
 
 "Dear Raoul, freedom once more." 
 
 "Can you not wait a little longer, dar 
 ling?" 
 
 "Oh this waiting has been so long. It 
 is becoming unbearable. Arry is preco 
 cious and asks me many questions I 
 find it difficult to answer. But when she 
 said Mamma, why does not papa live 
 here all the time with you and me, or 
 take us with him? I replied with what 
 fortitude I could Sometime he will. 
 
 The husband placed his arm about the 
 wife at his side and drew her to him. 
 Then she added, after a little hesitation, 
 4 6
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I told her, when pressed further by 
 her childish questioning, that papa had 
 a reason for all he did. Your child 
 looked into my face with earnestness as 
 she said, Is it a really reason, mamma? 
 And, as the man pressed her head down 
 on his breast, she sobbed aloud "Raoul, 
 I, too, asked myself if there was a really 
 reason. 
 
 "Bella, for over eight years I believe 
 I have had your implicit confidence. It 
 has been my bulwark in all times of 
 weakness since we first met. Will you 
 take it from me now?" 
 
 With the utter abandon that only wo 
 man s faith in man can explain, Bella 
 threw her arms about her husband s neck 
 and pressed her lips to his. Then she 
 softly murmured: "I trust you now and 
 forever. Keep me where it seems wise, 
 only let me be near my love." 
 
 "My darling wife, this is the lion s 
 strength with which you hold me." 
 
 "You have dried my tears away, 
 Raoul. You will see them no more." 
 47
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 As the clock chimed twelve times the 
 lights went out in the chateau. 
 
 An early breakfast was spread, for the 
 master must leave. Even as the sun rose, 
 father and mother stood by the little 
 bed, and watched their sleeping child. 
 Bending tenderly to the little face, her 
 papa lifted one golden curl in his fingers, 
 as he kissed the fair, childish brow. 
 Softly the door closed after them. 
 
 They went to see that all was in readi 
 ness for the departure. As the parents 
 stepped out on the balcony, the damp 
 ness of the night before still rested on leaf 
 and flower. A fragrance that only early 
 morning gives pervaded the air, and so 
 clear was the atmosphere, so utterly 
 silent the stillness, that the breathing of 
 the cattle could be heard as they grazed 
 hard by. Raoul s horse was tethered a 
 short distance from where he stood by 
 Bella s side, and, at his master s voice, he 
 gave a whinny as he pawed the lawn. 
 
 A few last words, and the parting 
 came. 
 
 4 8
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Oh, Raoul, it is such an ecstacy of 
 joy to be with you. Why, why must 
 such forebodings come. Promise me 
 again you will hasten your return." 
 
 "You will see me in a day or two, 
 unless I should go over to London; if I 
 do you will hear from me. In that case 
 I may be away several days. My darling, 
 keep up your courage. Reward is near." 
 
 "I hope, Raoul dear, this going to 
 London will not detain you long; for 
 when you do not come, I dread the long, 
 dark night, and morning light has only 
 horrors for the day that brings you not." 
 
 His parting words, as he mounted his 
 horse: "Bella, you will see me in three 
 or four days at the latest; be cheerful!" 
 sounded in her ears, as his horse cantered 
 away and left her standing beneath the 
 swaying branches. 
 
 As the leaves touched her brow, a 
 shadow flitted over her face and added to 
 the pathos there. Dewdrops fell from 
 the flowering boughs about her and 
 bathed the burning cheeks. Still the 
 49
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 leaves sparkled, and heaven s and wife s 
 tears mingled. Forward swayed the 
 lithesome figure for a last glance of horse 
 and rider. "So gentle, so kind to us, my 
 Raoul," she whispered. 
 
 As he passed beneath the lindens, 
 myriad drops of dew fell upon him. 
 Bella put forth her hand, as if to call him 
 back. It touched the over-hanging leaves, 
 and from them fell upon her head, 
 nature s most delicate restorative. 
 
 "Sweet heaven, thou hast vouchsafed 
 to us twain the same baptism. I am 
 satisfied,"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The old Quaker and his daughter had 
 friends in Philadelphia. A son waited 
 anxiously the coming of father and sister, 
 and, in the reunion of the loving and be 
 loved ones, Arabella was forgotten by all 
 save Martha. 
 
 Days passed into weeks, and still no 
 word from the missing man. The child 
 either did not know or could not be 
 persuaded to tell where her home had 
 been. The Quakeress frequently found 
 her weeping, and, on one occasion, when 
 the efforts of the child to suppress her 
 grief overcame the tender heart of Martha, 
 she clasped the child in her arms and 
 covered her own eyes. The little one 
 said: "Don t; I will not cry again." 
 
 "Why, child?" 
 
 " Cause it makes you cry." 
 5
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Yes, but suppose thou canst not help 
 it?" 
 
 "I will, though, Martha." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Lock the tear-box up tight and hide 
 the key where only God can find it. See, 
 I have done it now," and she smiled. 
 
 A radiant look came into the childish 
 face, and the Quakeress, clasping Ara 
 bella more firmly, said, "Thou shalt be 
 mine. Thine is the spirit of which 
 martyrs are made. And now I shall 
 never talk with thee any more about thy 
 home, thy father and mother. Thou art 
 mine." 
 
 "What if mamma came?" 
 
 "Then thou shalt be hers, but now thy 
 gown and bonnet shall be like mine. 
 Wilt thou like to be a little Friend?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Papa was so good to leave 
 me with you." 
 
 "Then wilt thou learn to say thou and 
 thee and thy, like the Friends?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Martha, wilt thee teach 
 me?" 
 
 52
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Child, thou hast taught thyself. 
 Love is the twist in thy tongue. It will 
 conquer armies." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 But as Martha did not seem inclined to 
 explain her mystical allusion, Arabella 
 was too wise in child-lore to persist. 
 
 The days were now spent in looking 
 about for a permanent home. The old 
 man, although not rich, had not come to 
 America empty-handed. It was his 
 desire to purchase a farm and spend his 
 remaining days free from persecution 
 which the Society, known as Friends or 
 Quakers, had been subjected to in Eng 
 land. 
 
 When Arabella was left on his hands, 
 he waited for what he thought a reason 
 able time to pass for her father to reclaim 
 her, then he quietly said: "I will do no 
 more to find the man, hid on land or sea, 
 for a purpose. The child is happier with 
 thee, Martha. Thou wilt find thou hast 
 much comfort in her, thinkest thou?" 
 
 "Yes, thou art far better to keep the 
 S3
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 child than her father. For me, I am 
 fond of the care of the little girl, who 
 prattles all day long, sometimes in French. 
 The child must have been with educated 
 people, for she uses only the best Eng 
 lish. I do not understand it. The box 
 her father left contained only the most 
 simple clothing. Strange mystery that 
 has fallen to thee and me." 
 
 To this remark, Hezekiah, the Friend, 
 only replied: "Do by the child as though 
 she were thine." 
 
 And so Arabella was adopted. 
 
 At Chadd s Ford, on the Brandywine, 
 lived Hezekiah s son, Daniel, and here 
 his father and sister, with the little girl, 
 remained while looking about for a de 
 sirable farm. At last one that seemed to 
 meet the principal requirements was dis 
 covered. It was about three miles from 
 the Ford and the Quaker meeting-house, 
 and the daughter said, "Father, thou 
 canst see how easy it will be for the little 
 girl and myself to walk to meeting and to 
 see Daniel, and thou canst drive to Phila- 
 54
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 delphia when thou wishest for special 
 guidance from the larger body of Friends." 
 This decided the question under discus 
 sion, and after a few repairs were made 
 the family moved into the farm-house. 
 
 Martha and Arabella did the work, and 
 it was a slow process unpacking the heavy 
 boxes, but at last everything was in order. 
 Arabella looked about her, and, as the 
 Quakeress stood on tip-toe with a cloth 
 in hand, wiping the dust from the high 
 posts of the bed, she said: "Now, wee 
 one, we are all through arranging the 
 things it seemeth good for us to have." 
 
 "Martha, is this all thou hast?" 
 
 "All, child! What dost thou expect? 
 Didst thou have more?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, it was so beautiful in my 
 mamma s chateau." 
 
 Martha turned suddenly, holding the 
 cloth as high as her arm would reach, 
 and forgetting to let her heels touch the 
 stool on which she stood, exclaimed: 
 
 "Chateau! Arabella, what dost thou 
 mean?" Then seeing her consternation, 
 55
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 she added: "Never mind, I will keep my 
 word to thee and ask thee no questions." 
 
 And as she stepped down from the 
 stool, the little girl walked out of the 
 house, and the Quakeress soliloquy ran 
 thus: "That child, please God, will some 
 day tell what she knows, for I am of the 
 opinion it would be most interesting to 
 thee, Martha. But if thou keepest to 
 what thou art called to do, it is to refrain 
 from curiosity ; but then it is for her good 
 I desire to know, I think. Still Friend 
 Zekiel always told us in meeting to guard 
 against the sin of being called to find out 
 the thing thou wantest to know, rather 
 than the things good for thee to know. I 
 am free to confess I am curious about the 
 child. Thy wisdom, wee one, is great in 
 keeping thine own counsel. Surely thou 
 hast been taught the right and wrong. 
 That is why thou findest it so easy to be 
 a Friend." 
 
 Life with the Quakers passed quietly. 
 Arabella did not seem to notice their pe 
 culiarities. She was clothed now in her 
 
 56
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Quaker costume, her dress extending 
 down to her ankles, and in her gray 
 bonnet and cloak there was nothing to 
 mark her other than a born Quaker, un 
 less it was her golden curls that would 
 find their way out of the sides of her 
 bonnet. These were the cause of some 
 family disagreement. 
 
 "Martha," said her brother, Daniel, 
 one day, sitting where his sister was 
 spinning, "I feel somewhat called to 
 speak to thee about the child Arabella." 
 
 "Well, Daniel, I am prepared to listen 
 to anything thou art called to tell me, be 
 lieving thee to be a man of honest pur 
 pose, although somewhat opposed to 
 the child. What thou wouldst say I shall 
 be pleased to hear." 
 
 "I am called, I believe, to tell thee it is 
 sinful and worldly to have the child wear 
 curls. They are for personal adorn 
 ment, and therefore not pleasing to the 
 Lord. Thou canst not bring the child 
 up to self-sacrifice unless thou teachest her 
 simplicity." 
 
 57
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Daniel, I have thought much of this, 
 but it is the one wish of Arabella that 
 they be left. In all else she yields will 
 ingly. Thinkest thou the child s feel 
 ings should not be considered?" 
 
 "Thy sister tells me children ought not 
 to have a way; it should be thy way." 
 
 "Daniel, the mother of thy children 
 may be in the right. So far I have not 
 been led to think with thee. I will give 
 myself up to the direction of the Lord in 
 this. The wee one said, Martha, just 
 let me keep my curls, so mamma will 
 know me if she comes. I felt the spirit 
 directed me not to offend her. Is this 
 all, Daniel?" as he seemed to fall into 
 meditation. 
 
 "No, thou art reprehensible in calling 
 the child Wee One. Thou knowest it 
 is giving thyself up to worldly ideas." 
 
 "Daniel, I said to the child Thou art 
 only a wee one when I first dressed 
 her in the Friends clothes. Arabella 
 said Call me that, Martha; it is prettier 
 than Arabella. And so I did." 
 58
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Thou hast admitted that vanity 
 prompts the name." 
 
 "Daniel, I will only call her wee one 
 when I am very much moved toward the 
 child, if thou thinkest I do wrong. I am 
 convinced that my great desire to treat 
 the child as her mother did is in no way 
 disobeying." 
 
 As the Quakers never say good-bye, 
 brother and sister parted in silence. 
 
 59
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 It was now spring, and Arabella wan 
 dered out among the wild flowers, gather 
 ing her apron full for the beloved Martha. 
 One day she ventured a long distance 
 from the house, and when she turned to 
 go home the two paths that lay before 
 her were as one. She could not tell 
 which to take. 
 
 "Martha will be so troubled," she said 
 aloud; "but I will sit down on this tree 
 stump and see which way I think I came. 
 
 No thought of fear was causing those 
 little hands to tremble, as she gathered 
 the blossoms from her apron and arranged 
 them. The last one was picked up, then 
 she arose. 
 
 "I must decide which way. How can 
 I?" Then, suddenly, "The daisy will tell 
 me." 
 
 60
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The garland was laid on the stump of 
 the tree, and picking a wild daisy from 
 the field, she began, "The but how can 
 I tell what to call the roads? Martha says 
 the oaks are fine ; so this road, with the 
 big trees, will be the oak road, and the 
 other, well just the other. Now, I will 
 begin." And the little fingers picked the 
 white leaf, The oak road ; the next leaf, 
 "The other road;" and so repeated to 
 the last petal, which came off at the words 
 "The oak road." Gathering her nosegay 
 together, she started to return that way. 
 
 A few minutes walk brought her face to 
 face with a boy, evidently several years 
 older than herself. Each stood appar 
 ently unable to move. Thus confronted, 
 the boy first found voice to speak. 
 
 "Ho ! ho ! so I see a young witch, do I ? 
 Can you hear through that bonnet? Why 
 don t you talk? What s your name?" 
 
 "Arabella." 
 
 "You have got a tongue. Say, spose 
 you sit down and tell me some witch 
 stories." 
 
 61
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I don t know any. I must hurry 
 home. I am lost, perhaps." 
 
 "Who are those flowers for?" 
 
 "Martha." 
 
 "Who is Martha? your sister?" 
 
 "No, I have no sister." 
 
 "Any brother?" 
 
 "No, I have nobody." 
 
 "Gol! that s queer. Who is Martha, 
 then?" 
 
 "The Friend I live with." 
 
 "Who put those clothes on you?" 
 
 "Martha." 
 
 "Take off that queer sun-bonnet, and 
 let me see you;" and he walked up, 
 untied the strings, and lifted the gray 
 bonnet from her head. 
 
 "Jingo, you are pretty. What makes 
 you wear that old hood?" 
 
 "It s not a hood." 
 
 "Well, then, the horrid old blind that 
 shuts you in." 
 
 "I will not let you talk so. Martha 
 wears one, too, and I love her; so there!" 
 
 "Is that all you love?" 
 62
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I love these;" and she held out her 
 flowers. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Cause they are so sweet and are the 
 field s wild visitors." 
 
 "Who said so?" 
 
 "I. And Martha says they are her 
 friends, too; and she wants them all the 
 time they are here, for they don t come 
 often." And then in a sorrowful tone, 
 "They don t stay long; they die." 
 
 The boy looked in a half-quizzical way, 
 as he said, "You arc queer;" and then 
 asked, "Where do you get them?" 
 
 "Way over the hill." 
 
 "My mother is so sick. I wish I had 
 found some to take home." 
 
 "Oh! give these to her." 
 
 "What will Martha say?" 
 
 "Just That was right, wee one; think 
 of others before thou dost of thyself, 
 that is all;" and holding out the flowers, 
 "Wilt thou have them?" 
 
 The boy still held her bonnet, swinging 
 it by one string. 
 
 63
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Say, you are a^vful queer. I wish my 
 mother could see you. Where do you 
 live?" 
 
 "Just this way, I think, is Friend 
 Hezekiah s farm." 
 
 "Well, I ll be plagued if you do not 
 live on the farm adjoining us." 
 
 "Oh, then thou canst show me the way 
 home. Wilt thou?" 
 
 "Yes, come along." 
 
 "And, p r aps thou wouldst like me 
 to take this nosegay to thy mother. 
 Martha says we must visit the sick. 
 May I?" 
 
 "Yes, come along. I say " 
 
 "Oh, my bonnet." 
 
 "Leave it off while I am with you. 
 Arabella, did you say your name was?" 
 
 "Yes, but Martha says to keep my 
 bonnet on." 
 
 "But you see I want to look at you." 
 
 "And Martha says Thou must not be 
 looked at. So, now, just give me my 
 bonnet." 
 
 "S pose I won t; what then?" 
 6 4
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Nothing, only I will go away, and 
 Martha will pray for thee." 
 
 I like that. Will you leave me the 
 bonnet?" 
 
 "Yes, cause Martha says we must lose 
 what we have rather than well, it 
 means just the same as fight." 
 
 "Well, Arabella, as we are neighbors, 
 we must not fight ; so take your bon 
 net. There is the house. See my 
 brothers?" 
 
 "All of them thy brothers! Oh, my! 
 and I have not one. Dost thou s pose 
 thy papa would give one, jus one, to 
 Martha." 
 
 "Give one of us to a witch?" 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Do n t you know?" 
 
 "No, I never, never heard, truly." 
 
 ;< Then you better not. Why do n t 
 you ask my name?" 
 
 "I s pose it s Friend . " 
 
 "Well, just s pose nothing of the 
 sort. We are not Quakers." 
 
 "Thou art not? I thought every one 
 65
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 in this new world, as Martha calls it, 
 were Friends." 
 
 "Not a bit of it, sis. Do n t let them 
 fool you." 
 
 "Who fools me?" 
 
 "The Quakers." 
 
 "They don t fool. Martha says it is 
 not pleasing to the Lord." 
 
 "She does, hey? Well, my name is 
 Jack. Just wait until I let down the 
 bars." 
 
 As Arabella said "Never mind," she 
 stooped and crept beneath them. As 
 she stood inside the grounds, four pairs 
 of boys eyes were riveted on her. 
 
 "Hello, Jack; what have you?" 
 
 The four-year-old echoed, "Hot as 
 you, Yak?" 
 
 "Keep still, can t you? Let the girl 
 alone. Go in." 
 
 "A girl, did you say, Jack?" 
 
 "Oh, Jack, I never saw so many 
 brothers. Martha has jus Daniel. I 
 better go home." 
 
 "Come on, Arabella, and give the 
 66
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 flowers to my mother. You know the 
 Quakeress would tell you to." 
 
 "Oh, yes; and she says when we are 
 afraid, we are only but jus selfish, think 
 ing of ourselves." 
 
 "Go on, boys. Come Arabella," and 
 he led her into a large room, where, re 
 clining on snowy white pillows, was the 
 mother of Jack. 
 
 "Come on, I say;" and, as she hung 
 back, "don t be afraid." He took her 
 hand. "Mother, this is the little Quak 
 eress that lives on the next farm." 
 
 The invalid put out her hand. 
 
 "Little girl, I am pleased to see you. 
 Are you well?" 
 
 "Yes, thank thee. Jack said that thou 
 dost like flowers. Wilt thou take this 
 nosegay?" 
 
 "With delight, child, if you can spare 
 it. And I thank you so much for think 
 ing of me. I hope that great big boy 
 did not ask for them. Were they gath 
 ered for your mother?" 
 
 "My mamma is not here." 
 67
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Where is she, dear?" 
 
 "Oh, so far over the sea. You do n t 
 speak like Martha, dost thou?" 
 
 "Do you mean as the Quakers do? 
 No, dear, we are not Quakers, but you 
 do not always say thou, I notice." 
 
 "No, Martha wants me to, but I 
 forget sometimes. Thou talkest just 
 like my mamma. I like to listen ; say 
 more." 
 
 A severe attack of coughing seized the 
 invalid, that caused Jack to lead her vis 
 itor from the room. 
 
 "If my mother uses her voice much, 
 she is troubled in this way. You can 
 come again to-morrow ; will you ? 
 
 "If Martha is willing. What are all 
 those names?" pointing to the brothers 
 of Jack. 
 
 "You act, Arabella, as if you had 
 never seen a boy before." 
 
 "I haven t seen so many. They look 
 
 just like trees. I will call thee the Oak; 
 
 the next size, the Elm ; that boy with the 
 
 freckles on his face, oh! he is the Bass; 
 
 68
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 and the next one is so tidy, he is the 
 Spruce; and the tiny one is the Maple, 
 cause he looks jus like maple sugar." 
 
 "Where did you learn the names of the 
 different trees?" 
 
 "Friend Hezekiah told me all bout 
 them." 
 
 "Now, can you remember which is 
 which?" 
 
 "I can tell about them, truly." 
 
 "Shall I take you home?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Come and see Martha, all 
 of you, will you?" 
 
 "Some other time we will go and see 
 you. Don t get lost again over the mea 
 dow," said Elm. 
 
 Jack and Arabella walked to Heze- 
 kiah s, each relating the adventures of 
 the day. As they neared the house the 
 Quakeress came to the door. 
 
 "Why, wee one, where hast thou 
 been?" 
 
 "Martha, wilt thou speak to the Oak 
 first." 
 
 Jack looked confused. 
 69
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "My name is Jack. The little girl 
 lost her way to-day, and I brought her 
 home." 
 
 "Thank thee, very much, Jack. Wilt 
 thou come in?" 
 
 "My mother will be looking for me. 
 It is time to milk the cows." 
 
 "Oh, Martha, the Oak s mother is so 
 ill! Wilt thou go, too, some day and see 
 her?" 
 
 "If the boy s mother wishes it I shall 
 be very glad to take her some home deli 
 cacy. Thinkest thou, Jack, thy mother 
 would see a Friend?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly. My mother is some 
 times very lonely. I often find her cry 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh, go soon! Thou wilt wipe her 
 tears away. Thou didst mine;" and the 
 child, taking the Quakeress hand, laid 
 it against her lips. "I love thee, Martha. 
 May the Oak love thee, too?" 
 
 "Jack will not come to see us again if 
 thou makest so free." 
 
 "Yes, he will, cause thou didst ask 
 70
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 him. Tell thy mother that I will bring 
 Martha, wilt thou Oak?" 
 
 As the boy left them he bade them 
 good-night; and he felt a lack of friend 
 liness that he heard no response. He 
 had gone a short distance when Ara 
 bella s voice reached him. 
 
 "Oak! Oak!" Returned. "I am ever 
 and ever and EVER so glad I found the 
 Oak. Dost thou hear?" 
 
 He waved his hand and smiled as he 
 plodded on.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 One year had passed since Arabella 
 took up her abode with the Quakeress. 
 Changes had taken place around the 
 farm ; other neighbors had come, two 
 families of Quakers among them. Jack s 
 mother had died, and he now found him 
 self the main-stay of his father in the care 
 of the family. Martha was of great as 
 sistance in directing and advising, and 
 the little girl was the confidant of them 
 all. She heard the story of imaginary 
 injustice, of burned potatoes, of soured 
 cream, of wet kindling, of father s dis 
 comforts, and the longing for the 
 mother s care. Here lay the secret tie 
 that knit their hearts together. No 
 matter what the trouble was, when Ara 
 bella came in sunshine followed. 
 
 To the importunities of Henry other- 
 72
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 wise, Maple to "Jus be mine side, 
 pease, Airbella, " she kissed him with the 
 remark, I go round all sides, Maple." 
 
 Then Jack took the gray bonnet be 
 tween his hands and said, "Plague the 
 thing! I would have one, too, if I could 
 get my head into that poke." 
 
 Then the little girl drew the bonnet 
 close over her face and said, "Oak, please 
 be good;" and he replied, "It is mean to 
 plague a girl." 
 
 These were happy days to the children, 
 in which they wove a life history that was 
 guileless and free from bitter envy and 
 longing greed for gain. Nature had 
 spread a lap of luxury and given the pure 
 fountain from which they drank. No 
 artificial splendor satiated their young 
 hearts, but contentment rested in their 
 souls. It was left, perhaps, for their 
 posterity to learn the misery, the heart 
 burnings of those dissatisfied ones who 
 strive and fail. 
 
 But the children went on patching the 
 trousers and tilling the soil, all heedless 
 73
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 of the conflict in which they were destined 
 to take an active part. 
 
 One day, when Arabella and Jack were 
 sitting on the back porch, he looked 
 down-hearted. 
 
 "What is it that makes thee so sad? 
 Wilt thou tell me?" 
 
 "Arabella, my father says there is sure 
 to be war, that the air is full of it, and 
 when the first gun is fired he shall be pres 
 ent. Have you heard anything of it?" 
 
 "Oh, Oak, one of the neighbors 
 wanted to speak to Friend Hezekiah 
 about some trouble, but he would not 
 listen, for he said war was sinful. Mar 
 tha says talk brews strife, so perhaps 
 thou and I best not speak much on 
 the subject. Art thou of the same 
 mind?" 
 
 "No, I don t believe I am, Arabella. 
 There is a mighty sight of difference be 
 tween v old folks and young. 
 
 "I s pose so." 
 
 "You s pose, and I know." 
 
 "Martha knows, and I jus s pose. 
 74
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Dost thou think thou art big enough to 
 know, Jack?" 
 
 "Well, I know it s hard on a boy to 
 have no one to talk to. Pap just ex 
 pects me to listen when he has anything to 
 say, as he believes children should be 
 seen and not heard. I don t stand any 
 show with pap." 
 
 "What kind of pap? Is it something 
 good?" 
 
 "Oh, you are a real greeny! Pap is 
 the short with boys for father." 
 
 "I am glad thou didst tell me, cause 
 I never, never did hear it before. I 
 s pose I do n t know much. Does that 
 mean greeny? 
 
 "That is what boys call it, but some 
 green things are smacking good, and you 
 are one of the some." 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 Now see here, Arabella ; it is enough to 
 break a boy all up to have no one to talk to. " 
 
 "Oh, Oak, talk all thou wilt if thou 
 won t breakup; cause what should I 
 do if thou shouldst break up ? If thou 
 75
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 dost feel bad about it, jus talk, and if I 
 don t answer it won t brew." 
 
 Jack grasped his hat, and threw it up 
 with a hurrah. 
 
 "You are more fun than a boy, Arabella. 
 The British are bound to own us; and 
 pap says we have not worked for nothing 
 in a new country ; that it is tax, tax, TAX, 
 rule, rule, RULE, and that America should 
 have freedom. I wish I could go too." 
 
 "Oh, Oak, what would become of lit 
 tle Maple and all the others?" 
 
 "Leave them with you. I feel as if I 
 were shirking my duty when my father 
 quotes the words of Patrick Henry, I 
 know not what course others may take, 
 but as for me, give me liberty or give me 
 death. " 
 
 "Oh, Oak, this is dreadful! But I 
 forgot; if I talk it will brew." 
 
 "Arabella, pap has been to the First 
 Continental Congress assembled at Car 
 penter s Hall, Philadelphia, and he has 
 come home ready for war. I should not 
 wonder if he went at any time." 
 76
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Oak, what is a Tory?" 
 
 "A lover of the oppression of Great 
 Britain." 
 
 "I am a Tory, Oak." 
 
 "You are?" 
 
 "Yes. Why dost thou look so cross? 
 Thou lookest just savage. Friend Heze- 
 kiah is; so am I." 
 
 "Then you are not my friend. You 
 had better go back to England." 
 
 "Now, thou seest, Oak, jus quick as 
 two talk it is jus like Martha says, it 
 brews. What art thou, Oak?" 
 
 "A Whig, of course," with a look 
 of disdain on his face. 
 
 "A wig!" Then came a merry 
 laugh. "That is worse on thee than my 
 bonnet thou talkest of so much." 
 
 "Goosie, I did not say wig ;" but 
 she could not be silenced. 
 
 "Then Hezekiah is a wig. Yes, he is. 
 I saw him put it on. And thou art one 
 too? Oh, Oak, it is worse than the 
 bonnet. I can take it off; thou darest 
 not." 
 
 77
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Arabella, listen to me. I did n t say 
 wig ; I said Whig. It means a man 
 who loves his freedom, his own country, 
 that he has suffered so much for. It 
 means that a Tory can not trample on 
 our rights without meeting resistance." 
 
 "Wilt thou resist, Oak?" 
 
 "You just be sure I will. If I were a 
 man I would be up in Boston now. The 
 tea ships have been sent home from Phil 
 adelphia already, and in Boston they 
 emptied the tea into the sea, because 
 they would not pay the tax." 
 
 "Oh, how Martha would like to have 
 gone up and got some before they threw 
 it away. Well, Oak, I don t know what 
 I am, twixt thee and Martha. I shall 
 see which way I am moved. I am going 
 now, Oak, but I spect I best not tell 
 war stories to Martha. Anyway not till 
 I have been moved. Now, do n t go off 
 to Boston before I see thee. Wilt thou 
 promise?" 
 
 "Oh, I can not leave the children if 
 father goes." 
 
 78
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Well, Oak, jus let father go, and I 
 will help with Elm, Bass, Spruce, and 
 Maple, and thou canst look after the 
 farm. That s Martha; I must go." 
 
 "Good-night, Arabella. I say, good 
 night, Arabella. Why don t you an 
 swer?" 
 
 "Martha says thou must not say it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Cause Martha says, Friends never 
 must," she called, as she looked back. 
 
 "Why, Arabella?" 
 
 " Cause we do n t, that s why," and 
 her voice was lost in the distance. Then 
 after a run, she changed her pace to a 
 slow walk, and the little voice trembled 
 as she said aloud, "I wonder if I am 
 moved to tell Martha all the Oak said 
 about wigs. Yes, it was wigs. If I tell, 
 Martha will feel bad bout Friend 
 Hezekiah. Then Martha says Don t 
 tattle. Yes, I m moved hard to 
 do n t tell, cause it s tattle. I wonder 
 who moves Friends so they do n t 
 feel it. Martha says, sometimes in 
 79
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 meeting, though, they shake cause they 
 are moved so hard. Spect I do n t, 
 cause I am not born. That s what 
 Martha says. I forget to say thou 
 sometimes. To be a Friend one must be 
 born, Martha says. I am so glad Martha 
 was born. Wish I had been, then I could 
 shake too. But I m moved truly not to 
 tell bout Oak." 
 
 On reaching home Arabella walked 
 into the living-room, and, after hanging up 
 her bonnet, went to find the Quakeress, 
 who was in the kitchen. 
 
 "Martha, can I do something for 
 thee?" 
 
 "If thou wilt gather some apples I will 
 make a pie, for company is coming to 
 the mid-day meal, and then do thou put 
 a clean cloth on the table. Father has a 
 friend from Philadelphia with him. They 
 are at Daniel s. They drove over and 
 will be back to dinner." 
 
 "Martha, thou lookest sad." 
 
 "Never mind; get the fruit from the 
 orchard." 
 
 80
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 When Arabella was out of sight, 
 the Quakeress fell into her old habit 
 of thinking aloud. "Friend John seem- 
 eth troubled about many things. The 
 Americans, he says, are the ones to 
 blame for the disturbed condition of this 
 country. These people, it so appears, 
 do not like George III., and they call his 
 taxation tyranny, and still they do not 
 think it amiss to persecute the Friends. 
 There is no doubt but that the Lord 
 deems it best for them to have this dis 
 cipline. How peaceful it might have 
 been in this new country if it had been 
 given to Friends and Indians. It seem- 
 eth a pity thou couldst not find peace 
 here, father. Thou couldst, but for the 
 Whigs." 
 
 Arabella reached the kitchen door just 
 in time to hear Martha s father s name 
 coupled with what she thought was wig. 
 
 "Martha, didst thou speak of Friend 
 Hezekiah s wig?" 
 
 "No, no. It seemeth best to me that 
 thou shalt be informed of some things, 
 81
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 now, which ought to be beyond thy 
 years; but the tumult is great, and thou 
 must hear it, and it is best from me. 
 There are men in this new world that are 
 not satisfied with all they have, and now 
 want to deprive George the Third, King 
 of England, of his taxes. They robbed 
 the Indian of his home, drove him out, 
 and thou wilt cry when thou readest 
 about it. And now the Whigs want to 
 rob England." 
 
 "People who wear wigs do it, didst 
 thou say, Martha?" 
 
 "It is not wig, I tell thee, child. It 
 is Whig." 
 
 "Does it mean the way a man is 
 moved, Martha?" 
 
 "Yes, child, by the devil." 
 
 "Martha tell me bout him, wilt thou? 
 I never heard thee speak of two moves 
 before. Thou hast always said, Child, if 
 thou prayest and waitest, thou wilt be 
 moved to do the thing pleasing to the 
 Lord. 
 
 "That is the trouble; the Whigs did 
 82
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 not wait. Do thou now ask no more 
 questions, but put the cloth on the table. 
 When thou hast done that, get out the 
 best china; for the Friend who so hon 
 ors us is in close Friendship to a Tory 
 named Howe. It is from Friend John 
 all news of these disturbances come. 
 The city of Philadelphia is threatened by 
 such heresy as asking one that is called 
 a minister his name is Duche to open 
 war with prayer. Run away, wee one, 
 now, and do as I bid thee. I am given 
 to too much speaking through temporal 
 excitement. Do thou forget it, child. 
 It is not good for thee to be too wise. 
 Innocence and simplicity are much to 
 be desired." 
 
 As the two were progressing with the 
 dinner, Friend Hezekiah, with Friend 
 John, returned. 
 
 "Thou wilt sit here, if thou art willing, 
 in the shade, while thou dost rest from 
 the ride." 
 
 "Friend Hezekiah, there is no rest for 
 thee and me. While thou canst not 
 83
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 shed blood, thou and I can so act as to 
 aid the Crown. Tory thou art." 
 
 Arabella s ears were opened wide. 
 "Hezekiaha Tory! Then it was not 
 his wig!" 
 
 And John continued, "Tory thou wilt 
 always be. That Whig, Otis, with his 
 ideas of rights, is stirring up great strife." 
 
 "But I cannot help it. I have ap 
 peared in supplication, but do not seem 
 to be convinced ; so will not ally myself 
 to either side." 
 
 "But listen, canst thou, to the courage 
 of the man, if he think to conquer the 
 King of England?" 
 
 "Thou must pity the disappointment 
 time will bring." 
 
 "Father wilt thou and Friend John be 
 seated at our simple meal?" 
 
 "Martha," said Friend John, "I have 
 not often been so blessed, since the Lord 
 called Sarah away, as to sit down where 
 women folk were. Thou hast brought 
 light into thy father s home, of which 
 thou must be ever mindful." As Ara- 
 8 4
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 bella took her seat, he continued, "And, 
 Martha, thou still feelest called upon to 
 keep the child, dost thou?" 
 
 "Friend John, Arabella is mine. 
 Father has so felt called to give her to 
 me." 
 
 "And if thou shouldst join thy life, 
 Martha, with another, wouldst thou still 
 feel called to keep the foundling?" 
 
 "If thou feelest pleased to be remind 
 ed, I think this an unfitting time to talk 
 about these conditions of life. They 
 have not been in my thoughts." 
 
 "Might they not be in thy thoughts, 
 Martha, if thou wouldst permit thyself to 
 be moved from the child, who seems to 
 fill all thy mind? Look into thy heart 
 and see if there is not some one who 
 needs thee to help bear the burdens the 
 Lord has sent?" 
 
 The Quakeress glance fell upon the 
 little girl, whose lips were white and 
 quievering. She sat at the opposite side 
 of the table, and Martha saw what she had 
 never seen in the youthful face before. 
 85
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "If thou art of the same mind, I 
 should like to ask thee somewhat of the 
 feeling of the Friends in Philadelphia. 
 It is long since father has felt that the ride 
 could be safely taken up to the city, for 
 his health is somewhat poorly." 
 
 "That is what I feel, Martha, should 
 lead thee to consider the state of union. 
 I feel thou wouldst not be so blind spirit 
 ually, if it were not that thou art so 
 affected by the foundling, who seems to 
 have led thee from thy people and from 
 the natural call of woman s heart, a com 
 panion." 
 
 Then Arabella pushed back her chair, 
 and slid out of it. 
 
 "Yes, I am moved. Thou didst move 
 me. Thou!" pointing her finger at 
 Friend John. 
 
 "Arabella! Arabella!" 
 
 "Martha, I must speak, cause I am 
 moved. He is a mean old John. I 
 wish I was a wig, and I d kill you. Yes, 
 I would," addressing John, "so thou 
 couldst not get Martha. That is jus why 
 86
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 thou wantest to get Martha away from 
 me, so thou canst have her, too." 
 
 "Arabella!" The Quakeress was at 
 her side. "Hush! thou must not," as 
 she tried to lead her away. 
 
 "Don t! I am not through being 
 moved! Wilt thou let me finish, Mar 
 tha? I will pray every night, John, the 
 wigs will get thee. Yes I will. Then 
 thou wilt be a foundling too, only thou 
 wilt not have Martha." 
 
 As the Quakeress reached the door 
 and forced the child out, she following 
 her, Arabella screamed, "The wigs will 
 get thee, so there, and give thee to the 
 fishes." 
 
 Alone with the child, Martha took her 
 in her arms. 
 
 "Oh, what hast thou done? Thou 
 hast 
 
 Then Arabella s arms were around her 
 neck. "But I love you so; dost thou 
 love me?" The large, dreamy eyes, full 
 of tears, were turned upon her. "Dost 
 thou, Martha?" 
 
 87
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Thou knowest I do, wee one. Better 
 than any other living thing, I love thee." 
 
 "Then, Martha, I am sorry thou hast 
 to reprove me. But if thou must, let it 
 be jus to sit and look at John, and pre 
 tend I am not moved. Truly, Martha, 
 that will be the very worst reproving, and 
 I shall be punished dreadfully. But be 
 cause thou lovest me, I will even do that 
 for thee, so thou wilt feel thou hast done 
 what is for my good and for thy con 
 science, as thou hast told me." 
 
 "Thou must apologize to Friend John. 
 He is in my father s house. Thou must 
 not only always be just, but thou must 
 bear injustice, especially when the Friend 
 is thy neighbor in heart and at thy table. 
 Thou must tell Friend John thou art 
 sorry. 
 
 "Martha, wouldst thou teach me to 
 lie?" 
 
 "Arabella!" Terror was apparent in 
 the Quakeress face. "Thou hast lost 
 all love for" 
 
 "No, don t say for thce! I could not 
 88
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 bear that. Thou shouldst not ask me to 
 lie. Thou hast taught me it is the cow 
 ard s sword, and always used from the 
 back. It cuts, but it is never seen." 
 
 "I did not tell thee to lie." 
 
 "Thou toldest me to tell John"- 
 
 "Say Friend." 
 
 "He is not my friend. He is only 
 mean John, and I am not sorry. I am 
 glad I told him." 
 
 "Hush, I will leave thee here. I 
 must go to the table." 
 
 "Wilt thou let me tell John I am sorry 
 I hurt thy feelings?" 
 
 "That is not enough, child." 
 
 "What dost thou s pose Friend Heze- 
 kiah will think?" 
 
 "That thou hast been very unkind to 
 his friend, that came to visit him; and 
 thou mayest make thy Friend Hezekiah 
 afraid to bring any one else here." 
 
 "Would he? Dost thou s pose that 
 he would take me and leave me like my 
 papa did?" 
 
 "No child, never. Thou art mine.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 But thou hast hurt him sorely, I am 
 sure." 
 
 Wilt thou take me back with thee? I 
 want my dinner, and I m convinced bout 
 Friend Hezekiah." 
 
 Leading the child by the hand, the 
 young Quakeress again opened the door 
 into the dining-room. Arabella, when she 
 drew near the table, gave a straight look 
 into John s face her expression said 
 "Do n t say it again." She went to the 
 old man who had protected her, and 
 threw her arms about his neck, exclaim 
 ing "My very best friend Hezekiah, do 
 forgive me for being rude at thy table ! I 
 will never, never do it again. Thou art 
 so good to me. Thou givest me all I 
 have to eat, and didst take me from the 
 boat-man, and gave me to thy Martha. 
 Now she is mine and thine. I am so 
 sorry. Dost thou forgive me that I hurt 
 thee?" She turned her face to his. 
 "Dost thou forgive me?" 
 
 "Yes, child; eat thy dinner in silence," 
 which command was obeyed to the letter. 
 90
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The conversation that had been inter 
 rupted, seemed to be taken up at that 
 point. 
 
 "Yes, these rebels will get enough. 
 British soldiers will, if necessary, mow 
 them down." 
 
 "Friend John, dost thou feel there is 
 justice in this action?" 
 
 "I feel that our friends have been per 
 secuted." 
 
 "I wish that we had some one, who 
 could take the place of Friend William 
 Penn, and reason with these people, 
 even as he did with the Indians, who 
 listened to the word of God and about 
 heaven. Thou wilt remember the trea 
 ties, kept by the strings of wampum, were 
 never broken. Thou canst see if thou 
 couldst only influence" 
 
 "Friend Hezekiah, the British mean 
 fight, and thou must see some cause, for 
 thou art a man of wisdom and learning, 
 and so considered in the quarterly meet 
 ing. Thou must keep in readiness to aid 
 the British whenever they appear, and to 
 91
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 keep from thy door such Americans as 
 would ask alms." 
 
 "Friend John, thinkest thou this is in 
 keeping with" 
 
 "Think thou nothing that is disloyal 
 to George the Third and Great Britain. 
 Patrick Henry, if the Tories can but 
 capture him, will be sent to England 
 and made to answer for treason to the 
 king." 
 
 Hezekiah s face was crimson as they 
 left the table, and his daughter had much 
 difficulty to keep up a show of hospital 
 ity. She tried to convince herself she 
 felt Friend John in the right on the war 
 question, but her feelings were, perhaps, 
 more fully defined in her reply to an in 
 quiry from Arabella. 
 
 "Martha, thou toldest me much talk of 
 wars and fighting would brew trouble, 
 didst thou not?" 
 
 "Yes, thou hast remembered it well." 
 
 "And thou didst tell me it was not 
 pleasing to the Lord?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 92
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Then thou knowest John is not agree 
 able to the Lord. Is he, thinkest thou?" 
 
 "I can not pass an opinion on so 
 weighty a matter. That would be a sub 
 ject to lay before the quarterly meeting, 
 if thou wert old enough and a born 
 Friend." 
 
 "If thou wert in the quarterly meeting, 
 and I were born and old enough, wouldst 
 thou have me say Friend John is a man 
 after mine own heart and pleasing to me? 
 
 "Child, we do not say it after that 
 manner." 
 
 "But, s pose we did, wouldst thou say 
 that?" 
 
 "Wee one, thou art too old for thy 
 years. 
 
 "Wilt thou not answer? Please do!" 
 and she threw her arms about the Quak 
 eress waist, as she stood before her. 
 
 "No, I would not say that. Art thou 
 happy now? I am thy Martha, child." 
 
 "Oh, joy! joy! joy! Thou wilt not 
 go to take care of John?" 
 
 "Be quiet. Every one hath a right to 
 93
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 his opinion. Because I do not fully be 
 lieve in all Friend John says, it is no rea 
 son he is not right. He may change his 
 views, if he appears in supplication, and 
 the troublesome times pass over. But 
 you see, child, all this talk of England s 
 dues and America s wrongs is continually 
 brewing trouble." 
 
 The rest of the day Arabella spent in 
 household cares, and when John drove 
 away from the farm she drew a sigh of 
 relief. That night she could not sleep; 
 the day had been so eventful. Jack s 
 revelations and her home experience had 
 made her old in wisdom. While thus ly 
 ing quietly in her room adjoining the liv 
 ing-room, she heard Hezekiah speaking. 
 
 "Martha, the child, Friend John 
 thinks, ought to have a stronger hand 
 than thine to guide her. He fears, 
 through thee, she will suffer spiritually. 
 He is so inclined to believe that Puritans 
 should have charge of her. What think- 
 est thou? That the little one is to evil 
 inclined?" 
 
 94
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Arabella lay shivering. What would 
 Martha say? 
 
 "Thou hast given thy word. Arabella 
 is mine and thine. I love to watch her 
 childish ways. There is no guile in them. 
 Leave her to thy example, thou hast 
 been my guide. She loves me, father, 
 and thee" 
 
 The little hands lay mute upon the 
 heaving chest, the whispered words were 
 uttered out of an overflowing heart, "I 
 do love thee, Martha." 
 
 "Thou dost see, Friend John has a 
 spiritual guidance toward thee. He 
 would join thy life to his, and thinks thou 
 mightst serve better the will of the Lord 
 together than walking alone. Thou 
 didst not give opportunity or thou 
 wouldst have heard from him his convic 
 tion, that appeareth to have been of some 
 time standing. What thinkest thou? 
 John is a faithful follower. Thou mightst 
 not find for thy companion another as 
 worthy thy life." 
 
 If thou wilt tell John , it is well he hath 
 95
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 confided to thee his thoughts ; for thou 
 knowest it is painful to wound the feel 
 ings of a friend. But the call seemeth 
 not to have reached me. I only feel the 
 need of Arabella and thee." 
 
 "Thou mayest be alone some day, the 
 child gone, and the allotted time for thee 
 and me to be together passed. Then 
 thou mightst be protected"- 
 
 "No, thou wilt not press this subject. 
 I could not leave thee for John. Think- 
 est thou not he is somewhat heated in 
 his judgment of the Whigs?" 
 
 "All men are not by nature alike. His 
 ideas and mine are not in perfect unison 
 about war. There is something to be 
 said for the Americans. My judgment 
 tells me but thou and I will have naught 
 to do with this strife. I would help the 
 sufferer on either side, if he came to my 
 door." 
 
 "I am much pleased to hear thee speak 
 
 thus. I fear I have been too severe in 
 
 my thought of the rebels. Friend John s 
 
 remarks have opened my eyes to see how 
 
 9 6
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 easy it is to err. I think his visit hath 
 taught me much." 
 
 " Martha, dost thou not think it would 
 seem pleasing in the eyes of the Lord to 
 ask at meeting, the seventh day, what 
 thou hadst best do to overcome the 
 child s violent temper? Friend John 
 doth think thou art very wrong in man 
 aging her according to thy own conceit. 
 Thinkest thou it would be wise to take 
 counsel of the Friends? I am slow to 
 say it, but the idea is one to consider, for 
 I am somewhat brought to see that the 
 child doth stand in thy light." 
 
 "Nay, father, be not led by false 
 prophets. Arabella can not come under 
 the guidance of the meeting, for she has 
 not a birthright inheritance. I simply 
 live up to the doctrine of befriending all 
 classes and conditions without regard to 
 consequences." 
 
 "But one of the Puritans might be will 
 ing to take her, as she is not of our sect, and 
 then there would be no call upon thee, 
 for she would be well provided for." 
 97
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "The child would suffer agony if taken 
 from me. Thou didst give her to me. 
 Thy word was passed that she should be 
 mine. The word of a Friend, thou 
 knowest, can not be broken. Tell this to 
 John and that, as thou hast so spoken, it 
 can not be undone; the child is mine." 
 
 "Thy heart is strangely knit to the lit 
 tle girl. Suppose the Frenchman should 
 claim her, what then?" 
 
 "Thou must not try me too far. He 
 will not come. I am so moved to believe 
 that the child is mine." 
 
 "And dost thou not think she would 
 leave thee to go to the man?" 
 
 "Never; I tell thee she is mine." 
 
 "So be it. Mayest thou not find 
 trouble from thy blind love." 
 
 Arabella, from this hour, felt a change 
 toward Hezekiah. He would please John 
 if Martha would permit it. But tired 
 with listening to this long debate about 
 her, she fell asleep, conscious that Martha 
 was hers.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Life at the farm of Friend Hezekiah 
 went on much the same for the next 
 month, and, as the Quakeress had taught 
 Arabella to sew, she, with her consent, 
 spent one day each week with Jack and 
 his brothers, doing the mending. 
 
 "The third day," Martha said, "will 
 be the most desirable." 
 
 Hezekiah paid little or no attention to 
 the friendship of the child for the boys. 
 His daughter, in her simplicity, never 
 thought to ask what the drift of their 
 conversation was, supposing it to be 
 about the kneeless trousers or toeless 
 stockings, from the samples she saw, for 
 when the case was too desperate for 
 Arabella, she rolled the work up, and 
 took it to Martha and asked for her help. 
 99
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Autumn had now set in, and the days 
 of cider and apples and pop-corn and 
 "nigger-toe" nuts had come. Pumpkin 
 pies, doughnuts, and the salt-rising 
 bread often found their way from Mar 
 tha s larder to Jack s. She kept him 
 supplied with yeast cakes, which Maple 
 called cookies; for she said, "Jack, do 
 thou not try salt-rising. Thou wilt 
 waste the flour." And Arabella, as she 
 entered the kitchen one frosty morning, 
 exclaimed, "Martha says thou must only 
 use one half, dost thou understand? Only 
 one half of this yeast cake to a baking, 
 cause they are extra strong. Dost thou 
 know what that means, Jack?" 
 
 "Goosie, of course I do. The empty 
 ings might taste in the bread." 
 
 "I am not a Goosie. I am a bird, and 
 that is the reason I always sit by thee, 
 cause thou art the Oak." 
 
 "Arabella, I would not move a branch 
 to frighten thee away." 
 
 "Oh, thou art a Quaker, too? Thou 
 saidst thee. Yes, thou didst. Now
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 thou belongest, but thou and I are not 
 born. 
 
 "I would like to know what did hap 
 pen then." 
 
 "Why don t you see, when we are 
 moved and say thee and thou, and let 
 me think oh, yes, and thy, then we be 
 long, but we are not born. I am so 
 glad, Oak, that thou dost. Art thou glad 
 thou dost belong with me?" And, as 
 Jack stooped down to put some wood on 
 the fire, her little hand rested on his 
 head. He kept his position a moment, 
 while he laid his hand on hers, and then 
 she placed the other on his. 
 
 "Now answer, or thou canst not rise." 
 
 "Say what, Birdie?" 
 
 "That thou belongest to me, too." 
 
 "Yes, I do, body and boots." 
 
 "And thy hat, too. Thou must al 
 ways wear it, and when thou goest to 
 meeting, thou must not take it off, nor 
 stay on my side." 
 
 "I must not. Well, just see here, I 
 am on your side, though."
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Well, s pose we jus don t go to 
 meeting anyhow, cause I 11 tell thee 
 why, if thou wilt just keep quiet cause 
 if thou dost not, we 11 brew sure as any 
 thing, cause I brewed. Yes, I did," as 
 she saw a smile on his face. 
 
 "Well, tell me about it." 
 
 " S pose I will, but I do n t think I am 
 truly moved, but I want to." 
 
 "Well, Birdie, go ahead. But see this 
 first." 
 
 "Oh, how lovely! A little pig! How 
 white it is." 
 
 "It is for Martha. Do you think she 
 will like it?" 
 
 "Oh, truly. How good thou art to think. 
 I wonder if all boys are as nice as thou?" 
 
 "You have four others to judge from." 
 
 "Oh, yes, but then I like them cause 
 thou art their brother. Dost thou think 
 thou canst ever be a John?" 
 
 Arabella looked sad. Jack s laughing 
 hurt her. 
 
 "Martha says thou must not laugh in- 
 or-di-nate-ly." 
 
 102
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "In what?" 
 
 "Yes, I am sure that is it, cause Mar 
 tha told me, and told me the word, and 
 then found it in the speller, and I know 
 that s it." 
 
 "Why did Martha say you must not 
 laugh inordinately?" 
 
 "Because it is not pleasing to the 
 Lord to trifle." 
 
 "Well, Birdie, as thou fearest John, it 
 would not be a trifle to wake up and find 
 myself Friend John." 
 
 "I mean when thou art a big man, wilt 
 thou be like him?" 
 
 The kitchen door opened, and Jack s 
 father came in. He was a fine specimen of 
 manhood, tall and straight, with a kindly 
 Scotch-Irish face. He led little Henry by 
 the hand, and he appeared much excited. 
 
 "Father, is there any news?" 
 
 "Yes, Jack. The Second Continental 
 Congress has just met at Philadelphia. 
 It voted to raise twenty thousand men. 
 I am one of them. I have held back too 
 long now for my country s good, because 
 103
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 of you children. Jack, be a man. You 
 are now fifteen. Look after your broth 
 ers and keep the red-coats off the farm. 
 If you hear any news of the doings of the 
 British that will aid your country, see that 
 our army gets it, if you walk into death 
 to deliver it. And, Jack, if bad comes 
 to worse, leave the boys with this little 
 maiden, and take your gun for liberty. 
 And if the American cause needs anything 
 you have, give it, even to the last drop 
 of your blood. Now, I have no time to 
 lose." And, turning to Arabella: "What 
 say you, little girl? Your family, I sup 
 pose, are Tories. So you may not be al 
 lowed to comfort the boys, but, as Quak 
 ers, they may permit it. Do n t disturb 
 your people with war records from here." 
 "I 11 do jus as the Oak tells me." 
 "But you must obey those who take 
 care of you." 
 
 "Yes, I do obey Martha. Thou know- 
 est she is good." 
 
 "Well, will you take care of the boys?" 
 "Oh, yes, jus as well as I can. And 
 104
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 if John talks any more about wigs, I ll 
 run and tell the Oak." 
 
 "Who is John?" queried Mr. Allen. 
 
 "Oh, he said, Kill the Yankees. 
 What are they?" 
 
 "Why Jack and the other boys." 
 
 "Oh, my! then I ll watch John jus as 
 close as I can, cause he s mean." 
 
 "And if a man with a red coat comes, 
 will you tell Jack?" he said, smiling at 
 her earnestness. 
 
 "Will he be a wig?" 
 
 "No, he would be a Tory." 
 
 "A Tory," she repeated. "Would he 
 kill Patrick Henry?" 
 
 "Surely, and consider England owed 
 him a debt of gratitude. What do you 
 know about Patrick Henry?" 
 
 "John talked about him and Otis, but 
 I must be brewing, cause thou lookest 
 so cross." 
 
 "You must be what?" 
 
 Martha says talking of war brews strife 
 and trouble." 
 
 "Jack, you will not get lonely if this 
 105
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 little girl visits you often. But I am wast 
 ing precious time. It means to horse now 
 as quickly as possible." 
 
 Jack followed his father to his room. 
 
 "My son," he said, as he took some 
 papers from a drawer, "guard these, and 
 I think you had better be a little careful 
 about the child from the Quakers. 
 They are not in sympathy with us, and it 
 is evident they have Tory friends." 
 
 "Father, she would die before harm 
 ing us." 
 
 "Certainly, my son; but she is so 
 guileless that it may be spoken of 
 thoughtlessly. Never say to her any 
 thing that will necessitate implying, do n t 
 tell, or keep it from this Martha she 
 talks about. Never, even for the sake of 
 your country, lead an unsuspecting child 
 into such trouble. She evidently trusts 
 you. What she seems willing to tell of 
 her own volition is one thing. Ask her 
 no questions the Quakeress might not 
 hear. Be a man of honor above all 
 things. Now, be kind and watchful of 
 1 06
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 your brothers, and I will let you hear 
 from me as the opportunity presents it 
 self." 
 
 He then bade a tender farewell to his 
 children. The two younger were in pas 
 sionate grief. The strong man trembled, 
 as he forced them from him, and threw 
 himself into the saddle, while he brushed 
 the tears from his eyes. 
 
 Arabella, from that moment, com 
 menced her work of love. She soothed 
 the little Henry in her own childish arms, 
 and, at the same time, talked to Darius 
 of the time when his father would return. 
 
 "Thou must jus think he has gone up 
 to the city to buy cows, and by-and-by 
 he will come back, and Bossie will give 
 thee nice milk." 
 
 "It s no such thing, you know; so 
 there," retorted Darius. 
 
 "Jus pretend." 
 
 "No, I won t pretend." 
 
 "Well, perhaps it s best not , cause 
 Martha says, Wishing for things brews 
 discontent. Then with words of com- 
 107
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 fort she at last calmed them. "Thou 
 hast as much to cry for as I have now ; 
 only see, I do n t." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Cause it makes Martha feel sad." 
 
 "I have n t any Marfa. v 
 
 "Well, thou hast me." 
 
 "Will you be our Marfa?" 
 
 "Yes, I 11 try, Henry; but I cannot 
 be as good as the really, truly one, 
 cause she is born . 
 
 In spite of his ill-concealed grief, Jack 
 smiled. 
 
 "Well, Birdie, you are born enough 
 for us." 
 
 Then Joe spoke up. "Do you s pose 
 the Quakeress would let you stay here 
 all the time this winter, while pap 
 is away and Henry has the croup so 
 often?" 
 
 "Oh, my! Joe, I could not, cause 
 nights I must see Martha, or else I well, 
 I s pose" I d cry too. Then thou wouldst 
 not want me." 
 
 "How about your coming every day?" 
 108
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 asked the morose Fred, who almost never 
 talked to Arabella. 
 
 "I 11 do that, Bass, true as thou want- 
 est me." 
 
 "Perhaps she won t let you," chimed 
 in Darius. 
 
 "Yes she will, when I tell her thou 
 hast no mother, and thy father has gone 
 to the war." 
 
 Oh, the temptation in Jack s heart to 
 tell her not to say why or where his 
 father had gone, but the admonition he 
 had just received had sunk deep into his 
 heart. He only said, "I hope Martha 
 will let you come." 
 
 "She will, cause she is good. Thou 
 dost not know, cause thou hast no Mar 
 tha that s born ." 
 
 The older boys felt inclined to laugh 
 at her odd way of expressing herself, but 
 their hearts had grown tender toward the 
 little girl in the gray dress and poke 
 bonnet, who came and helped them. 
 
 "I do hope you will be here every 
 morning." 
 
 109
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "S pose it snows, oh, so high?" 
 
 "Look here, Birdie, if you will come 
 over here every day this winter, said 
 Jack, "the first thing I do when I get 
 up will be to shovel a path for thee." 
 
 The boys shouted, "Jack s a Quaker 
 too! Hear him say thee! 
 
 "Well, I would n t wonder much if we 
 all said Thee before winter is gone," 
 said Darius. 
 
 "Thou jus make the path, Oak, and 
 I will walk in it. And here I have not 
 done any of the mending thou hadst for 
 me, cause thou hadst so many stirring 
 things going on. Martha calls this sort 
 of a day a distraction day, and says 
 Child, thou must work the harder to 
 morrow. 
 
 Arabella put the gray bonnet on as 
 the sun began to hide behind the hills. 
 
 "Birdie, I will go over to the farm 
 with thee, and carry the present." 
 
 So the two started off. Jack shifted 
 his load from one shoulder to the other. 
 
 "Oak, let me help thee carry it."
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "You, a girl, carry a pig." 
 
 "Martha says We must bear each 
 other s burdens, and she do n t say any 
 thing bout girls need n t. So now, 
 please give it to me." 
 
 "Not a bit of a pig do you carry when 
 I am along, or any other burden, if I can 
 help it." 
 
 When, at the door, Arabella pulled the 
 latch-string. 
 
 "Go in, Oak." 
 
 The Quakeress stood by the table. 
 She started in dismay. 
 
 "Child, what hast thou?" 
 
 "A pig! a pig!" 
 
 Jack walked up and laid it on the 
 table. 
 
 "Miss 
 
 He could go no further, for the little 
 girl exclaimed, "Thou must not say 
 Miss! " 
 
 Jack seemed embarrassed. 
 
 "That is so, Jack. Thou forgetest; 
 just the plain Martha. But didst thou 
 bring this on thy shoulder all the way?"
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I did not mind that," he replied, as 
 he wiped the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 "Arabella walked so fast it made me 
 warm to keep up with her." 
 
 Jack, tell what thou didst bring it for. 
 
 "A thank-offering for dinner, if thou 
 wilt accept it." 
 
 "Thou art kind. My father will like 
 it very much. We shall be happy in 
 the eating to know thou didst think of us. 
 
 "I must hurry back now, Arabella." 
 And Jack lifted his hat to the Quak 
 eress. 
 
 "Shall I run jus to the bars to keep 
 thee company, Oak?" 
 
 "If thou wilt." 
 
 A smile lighted up Martha s serious 
 countenance as she heard the manner of 
 addressing the child. The two went out 
 together. As they walked on, the little 
 girl faced Jack. 
 
 "Oak, why didst thou not tell Martha 
 thy father had gone to the war?" 
 
 A moment s silence, then a straightfor 
 ward look into that bonnet.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I did not think it best. Martha is 
 kind to consent to your coming to us. 
 She is very thoughtful for our comfort. 
 She did not ask me any questions. 
 Would it be polite to tell her, in her 
 own house, that my father had gone out 
 to fight for the rights he believed we 
 should have and she believes we should 
 not have? I ought not to tell her unless 
 she asks." 
 
 "Oak, art thou a Tory?" 
 
 "No, Birdie, thou seemest to have a 
 hard time arranging the Tories and 
 Whigs. John, thou tellest me about, 
 must be a Tory, if he does not admire 
 Patrick Henry." 
 
 "Then, Jack, I am a wig, cause I 
 could not be what John is. If I were, I 
 might want him to take Martha. P raps 
 I would be moved so I should have to 
 tell him. No, I am a wig. Jack, art 
 thou?" 
 
 "You just be sure I am to my finger 
 tips. Martha is a Tory, is n t she?" 
 
 "Now, Oak, jus you see here: don t 
 "3
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 ask idle questions, cause I do n t know 
 them. And if Martha is a Tory, I do n t 
 want to know that either. Cause I s pect 
 if I asked her she would likely ask me. 
 I do not want to tell, if I am not jus like 
 her exactly, cause she might feel bad, 
 and Friend Hezekiah might be moved to 
 tell old John. No, I will only tell thee 
 bout it, but I truly am a wig. Here 
 are the bars, so I will leave thee." 
 
 "Good-night, Birdie." 
 
 She waved her hand, and ran back in 
 the twilight.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The next morning Arabella finished her 
 little duties, and then, approaching the 
 Quakeress, said :" Dear Martha, if thou 
 art willing, I should like to go to Jack s 
 again." 
 
 "Child, thou wert there all last third 
 day." 
 
 "I should like, if it please thee, to go 
 first day, second day, third day, fourth 
 day, fifth day, sixth day, and, Martha, 
 seventh day." 
 
 "Child, wouldst thou leave me? Dost 
 thou wish to live there?" 
 
 Into her arms went the little girl. 
 
 "Oh, oh, no! Only their father has 
 gone, and their mother is in heaven, and 
 they jus said, S pose I could be their 
 Martha for a little while every day." 
 Cause it is so long till dark comes, and 
 "5
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 thou knowest, now, Jack will be out so 
 much on the farm, cause his father said 
 he must. And I did not mend cause, 
 well, cause I did not, on third day." 
 
 "Child, dost thou know when the 
 father will be back?" 
 
 "No, I did not ask. Thou dost tell 
 me it is not prof ble to meddle." 
 
 "Go, and be happy. But see thou art 
 home early. Here are some fresh tarts 
 for the boys. Thou mightst ask them 
 to come to dinner with thee when the pig 
 is cooked. 
 
 Away went Arabella. Martha, left to 
 herself, continued to discuss aloud the 
 Allen family. 
 
 "I am rather persuaded this neigh 
 bor s a Whig, but I am not going to ask 
 the question that will prove it. The 
 child doth have but slight pleasure at the 
 best, and to take the companionship of 
 these children from her might call up the 
 temper she seems not able to control at 
 times. Then she is doing good. It is a 
 lesson that cannot be learned too early. 
 116
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 My father said he would not turn a 
 Whig from his door if he were in need. 
 The children might suffer, were the child 
 to leave them without any help from her. 
 No, it seemeth best to send the dough 
 nuts and ask no questions." 
 
 So the little Aliens, through two long 
 winters, had Arabella every day, and her 
 mind really seemed to grasp all the infor 
 mation she received from Jack. He 
 loved to see the astonishment in the 
 child s face, as he tried to explain to her 
 the meaning of the difficulties between 
 England and America. She listened to 
 the story of the signing of the Declara 
 tion of Independence, and all other war 
 news which he heard. It had reached 
 every fireside and quickened the action 
 of heart and brain in old and young. 
 Jack had waited and watched in vain for 
 tidings from his father for several months. 
 At last suspense became unbearable to 
 the anxious boy, and he determined to 
 go up to Philadelphia and see if he could 
 learn anything about him. 
 117
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Arabella was downcast and disheart 
 ened when the time arrived for Jack s de 
 parture. She went early to the farm to 
 see him off, and walked to the corners 
 with him ; after which she returned to the 
 boys, but remained only a short time. 
 She shared Jack s anxiety about his 
 father, and she wanted to be alone. On 
 reaching home, she went about her duties 
 silently, and kept out of doors as much 
 as possible, that Martha might not notice 
 her red eyes, for she did cry when Jack 
 took that gray bonnet by the sides, and 
 said "Birdie, take good care of yourself 
 until I get back." 
 
 It was a long day without Jack, but it 
 had its end ; and the following morning 
 Arabella looked about for constant occu 
 pation until time for him to return. She 
 prepared a pan of meal, and, sitting down 
 on the steps, she called the chickens 
 about her and began feeding them. Sud 
 denly her attention was attracted by the 
 sound of some one appproaching the 
 house. She turned to look toward the 
 nS
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 road, when, to her dismay, she saw Friend 
 John. She sprang to her feet, letting 
 fall her pan of meal; she heeded not the 
 flight of the frightened chickens; she did 
 not wait to see the effect of her excited 
 retreat; but, opening the door of the 
 kitchen, and, not seeing the Quakeress, 
 she called, "Martha, dear; dear Mar 
 tha! Oh, where art thou? Don t let 
 him coax thee away wilt thou? wilt 
 thou?" 
 
 "What art thou saying?" And Martha 
 hastened to the child. "Art thou hurt? 
 Thy voice has pain in it." 
 
 "John! Oh! John is here! Wilt 
 thou hide?" 
 
 "Oh, no. Thou needest not fear. 
 Friend John will not harm thee. He 
 does not wish to cause thee unhappiness, 
 child." 
 
 "No, but thee. He will take thee." 
 
 "No, child, thou needest not fear for 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, Martha, please let me hide while 
 he is here." 
 
 119
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Very well, if thou wilt be happier." 
 
 As Friend John came in Arabella sat 
 by the window in her own room darn 
 ing. 
 
 "Friend Hezekiah, thou seest now the 
 true danger of permitting thy pity to go 
 out to a rebel. Bennington has just 
 been lost to us, but Burgoyne will not 
 leave one of their men this side of the 
 water. I will give all I own, I tell 
 thee, Hezekiah, to help England. Howe 
 is now preparing to strike Philadelphia; 
 thou mayest see him here. I have given 
 thy name and house as a safe place for 
 secret meetings. So thou wilt under 
 stand it. Thou art loyal, Hezekiah?" 
 
 "Thou canst riot doubt, John, my will 
 ingness to serve my king, but I will not 
 be a party to bloodshed. If my house 
 is desired for rest and peaceful conversa 
 tion, it is well. What the king demands, 
 I will do as a subject. Art thou will 
 ing to take up arms or bind thyself?" 
 
 "If needs be." 
 
 "Ought not our birthright inheritance
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 to be first considered? Would a Friend 
 be judged by the elders as being moved 
 aright to so do?" 
 
 "Hezekiah, I am fully convinced of 
 my duty." 
 
 "Art thou not being led by thy sym 
 pathy, rather than by thy judgment? 
 Thou hadst better think earnestly, or thou 
 mayest regret it. John, let us remain 
 in peace. I am to be relied upon for 
 secrecy." 
 
 And here the subject was dropped. 
 
 "Has Martha changed her views of the 
 desirability of the state of companionship, 
 thinkest thou?" 
 
 "I fear thou hast little to hope, John, 
 from her. She seemeth so to believe 
 that her duty is to her father." 
 
 "Why dost thou say father , when that 
 child standeth in the way of her progres 
 sion?" 
 
 "Well, Martha is near unto twenty- 
 seven years. She is now fit to judge for 
 herself without guidance, only from the 
 spoken words of the Friends at meeting.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 I feel I must leave so important a matter 
 with her." 
 
 "And the child; dost thou approve of 
 her action in regard to the foundling?" 
 
 "Friend John, my word hath passed 
 to Martha that I would permit her to 
 keep Arabella in my house. Thou canst 
 see that it must remain so. The child 
 really seems a quiet, peaceful one." 
 
 "Dost thou think so? If thou wert to 
 tell of her temper 
 
 "John, knowest thou not flesh is weak? 
 especially young flesh?" 
 
 The Quakeress came in, and John 
 seemed anxious to see her alone; but as 
 Hezekiah showed no signs of going out, 
 John, addressing himself to her, said: 
 "The day is very warm. Wilt thou go 
 with me to the spring for water to drink ? 
 
 She rose, and he followed her out. 
 She knew what she must hear, and forti 
 fied herself for it. 
 
 "This is a pleasant place, Martha; but 
 thou hast talents given thee by the Lord 
 that are going to waste in this country
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 life. Thou shouldst be heard at the 
 meeting and the mid-week gatherings 
 of the Friends. Thou canst not help our 
 work as thou art now. I have thought 
 much about thy good and welfare. Mar 
 tha, thou art a comely woman. I feel 
 that the Lord hath to tell thee, through 
 his servant, all these things, and that, if 
 thou wilt consent, I am persuaded I 
 should be the one to lead thee into 
 broader fields." He reached out and 
 took her hand. "I am really moved to 
 believe thou shouldst walk by my side as 
 my helpmeet. Wilt thou? Now, Martha, 
 speak of thy feelings." 
 
 "Friend John, thou hast been very 
 generous to think of me as thy helpmeet, 
 and be willing to take me from the life 
 thou thinkest is too narrow; but thou 
 knowest my father needs me, and I have 
 not been led to feel that I was called to 
 broader fields. Thy willingness to have 
 me with thee always is somewhat to my 
 worldly good; and, as thou sayest, for 
 my spiritual advancement, also. But, 
 123
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Friend John, I hope thou wilt know how 
 painful it is to tell thee, I have not been 
 called to enter that serious condition of 
 life thou hast mentioned." 
 
 "It is the child that keeps thee from 
 me. Would our lives be joined if thou 
 hadst not taken her?" 
 
 His keen glance did not escape his 
 companion. 
 
 "Friend John, I must first be moved. 
 Thou wouldst not want me without the 
 guidance of the spirit?" 
 
 "I would take thee any way if thou 
 wouldst come." 
 
 "I can not, Friend John, feeling as 
 thou seest I do." 
 
 He turned to his horse, which was 
 browsing in the yard. 
 
 "Tell Friend Hezekiah I will see him 
 at another time." 
 
 "Wilt thou not stop for dinner, Friend 
 John?" 
 
 "I will not wait now. I hope thou 
 wilt feel differently when I come again." 
 
 As she turned to the house, a little, 
 124
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 white face was raised from the window 
 sill, where every word had been heard. 
 The spring was at the side of the house 
 next her window. As the Quakeress 
 came around to the kitchen, Arabella, 
 bonnet in hand, passed out of the door 
 leading from the living room. Hezekiah 
 was dozing in his big chair, and she went 
 noiselessly by, that he might not be dis 
 turbed. Across lots to the boys she ran, 
 and Martha, looking in her room, said, 
 "The child may not have come in here, 
 but may have gone into the field for 
 flowers. Better so, as she seemeth to be 
 overcome with her fear of Friend John. 
 I regret much that he hath so spoken, 
 that the child knows she is not pleasing 
 in his sight. Who can that be?" as again, 
 the sound of horses hoofs coming rapidly 
 up the gravel path, caused her to hasten 
 to the door. Daniel threw himself from 
 the saddle, almost at the moment she 
 appeared on the porch. 
 
 "Daniel, what is wrong with thee?" 
 as she noted his excitement. 
 125
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Put on thy bonnet; lose not a mo 
 ment. Jane is very ill. I fear that it 
 is the will of the Lord that she shall be 
 called away." 
 
 During this conversation they were 
 making their way to Hezekiah, still 
 asleep in his chair. 
 
 "Father, Daniel is here." 
 
 He opened his eyes. 
 
 "Daniel, oh, yes. Thou lookest 
 heated." Then, as he stretched himself 
 and rubbed his eyes: "Thou lookest 
 troubled, Daniel." 
 
 A hasty explanation followed. Martha 
 arranged a few things about the house, 
 and the chore-boy harnessed the horse to 
 a wagon, as there was no time for walk 
 ing. 
 
 "Where is the child?" asked Hezekiah. 
 
 "Dost thou consent to her wandering 
 where she will?" asked Daniel. 
 
 For some unspoken reason his sister 
 
 did not tell just where she thought she 
 
 might be, but said: "I will not wait to 
 
 see her. She will come in soon. Father, 
 
 126
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 just thou tell the child where I have 
 gone, and that thou and she will look 
 after the house, if thou wilt." 
 
 Then to the chore-boy other orders 
 were given : the kitchen fire was not to be 
 forgotten, and the last detail regarding 
 the care of the family was mentioned, as 
 if the going was for a month. 
 
 "Observe that the child is not given 
 any hard task," was Martha s parting 
 admonition, as she picked up the reins 
 and drove away after her brother, who 
 was hastening on before. 
 
 Meanwhile Arabella was seated on the 
 side porch of Jack s house, apparently 
 with something serious on her mind. 
 
 "Birdie, what are you thinking 
 about?" 
 
 "Oak, I am brewing; true I am." 
 
 "Well, suppose you brew out loud." 
 
 Her face was flushed, and she pushed 
 back her hair, as she threw the gray bon 
 net down beside her. Jack took one of 
 the golden curls in his fingers, and pre 
 tended to pull it. 
 
 127
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Tell me what has happened. It must 
 be Friend John." 
 
 "That is jus it," and she threw her 
 head back in a defiant manner; "that 
 is the very one. Oh, thou dost not 
 know how fraid I am of him." 
 
 "Now, see here, Birdie, Martha will 
 not let him hurt thee. Is he there now?" 
 
 "Oh, dost thou s pose I would leave 
 Martha lone with him?" 
 
 Jack struggled manfully to suppress a 
 smile, for well he knew the sensitive lit 
 tle heart was in too serious a mood to 
 bear even the shadow of levity. 
 
 "What had he to say, Arabella?" 
 
 "Thou must be very, very serious if I 
 tell thee, and the Elm, or no one else 
 must know, cause prob ly it is wrong to 
 talk about it, but you see I have jus 
 commenced brewing, and I can t stop." 
 
 "I am waiting if thou wishest to tell." 
 
 "Well, I do wish to tell thee; and, as 
 
 Friend Hezekiah knows and I know, 
 
 s posin thou dost know, too. It is only 
 
 one more. Martha will not care, and 
 
 128
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 mean old John; thou canst do what thou 
 pleasest to him. I wish he were a pair 
 of shoes, and I would put him on, and 
 jus run up and down on the gravel road, 
 where Martha says I must not walk, 
 cause it scuffs my shoes out. I wish 
 yes I do I wish he was my ugliest doll 
 I had at the chateau, and I would throw 
 him on a stone and break his head, and 
 then I would not have him mended." 
 
 Jack looked in amazement. Her doll 
 in the chateau ! He knew enough to 
 understand well that this did not refer 
 to her life at the farm, and curiosity 
 prompted the question, "Where did you 
 live before you came here?" 
 
 "Now, Oak, I will not brew that way, 
 cause at the chateau we did not brew, or 
 move, only my papa said, You must not 
 talk about anything but your dolls; so I 
 can only talk about well, jus things 
 here." 
 
 "Canst thou talk in French?" 
 
 "Yes, I can, cause I always think in 
 French." 
 
 129
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Does Martha speak it?" 
 
 No, but the chore-boy does; and Mar 
 tha says Child, speak it to the chore-boy 
 when thou hast something to communi 
 cate to him, for thou ought to remember 
 thy mother-tongue. 
 
 "Strange, I never heard thee speak a 
 word of it before." 
 
 "Thou hast not heard what John did. 
 Well, he asked Martha to be his help 
 meet. What kind of meat is that?" 
 
 Jack threw his arms around her. 
 
 "My little sister!" he exclaimed, as he 
 kissed her forehead, "it is the sweetest 
 kind of meat, and some day, when you 
 are big, you will taste it. And he laughed 
 aloud as he let her go. 
 
 "Oh, thou art poking fun at me." 
 
 "You are oh well, odd; and thou 
 knowest I have no sister, so I am not 
 used to girls ways." 
 
 "I have only the chore-boy; and Mar 
 tha says Be very kind, but not familiar 
 with the chore-boy, child. I will tell 
 thee no more. I must go home. Didst 
 130
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 thou hear from thy father when thou 
 didst go to the city? Martha says, if the 
 times were not so troublesome she would 
 take me up to Philadelphia ; that the gray- 
 in my bonnet and dress look green from 
 the many wettings through the winter. 
 Thou hast not told me of thy father." 
 
 Jack s voice trembled, as he said : "He 
 was in the battle of Bennington, and 
 escaped unharmed ; but I do not like to 
 tell the many sorrowful things that hap 
 pened to others. I will walk part way 
 with thee, when I tell the boys to start 
 our dinner. I wish you would n t go." 
 
 "No, I best go home." 
 
 They walked along over the green 
 grass. The birds were singing, and all 
 thought of care left the young hearts, as 
 they talked of the long summer days in 
 which they had roamed the fields over 
 for flowers and berries. As they reached 
 the bars, Jack let them down ; then said : 
 "Now, I am going back. Good-bye, 
 Birdie." 
 
 She waved the bonnet, the strings of
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 which were held tightly in her hand, and 
 ran on until her home was reached. As 
 Arabella entered the kitchen it was with 
 surprise at not seeing the Quakeress at 
 this hour preparing the mid-day meal. 
 
 "Martha!" Then, as no answer came, 
 she screamed: "M-a-r-t-h-a." 
 
 As she opened the door leading to the 
 living-room, Friend Hezekiah met her. 
 
 "Child, Martha has gone." 
 
 She heard no more. 
 
 "Oh, Martha, thou didst tell him 
 thou wouldst not ! Oh, Hezekiah, why 
 didst thou send her to that wicked 
 John? Oh, I shall run oh, where shall 
 I run?" 
 
 The Quaker, by this time completely 
 overcome by the child s sobbing as she 
 sank into a chair, could only say: "Thou 
 must not cry. She will be soon with 
 thee." 
 
 She heard him not. 
 
 "Oh, that wicked John! Why didst 
 thou send her, when she told him she 
 was not moved?" 
 
 132
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 At last the truth came into Hezekiah s 
 mind. 
 
 Laying his hand tenderly on her head, 
 he said: "Child, Daniel came for her. 
 Jane lieth very low, and Martha bid thee 
 do the work for thee and me until she 
 can come back; dost thou understand?" 
 
 "Did she go to Daniel s house, Friend 
 Hezekiah?" 
 
 "I have told thee so, child." 
 
 "I will do as I am bid." 
 
 A simple meal was placed before him, 
 and, the work being finished, the child 
 took her bonnet and started off through 
 the fields. 
 
 The Quakeress, upon her arrival at her 
 brother s, found that Jane was seriously 
 ill, and there was much to cause her 
 anxiety. She had to trust to her own 
 skill as doctor and nurse, as well as look 
 ing after the three small children. Her 
 mind was filled with the surrounding dif 
 ficulties. As she stood by the fire pre 
 paring some milk porridge for Jane in the 
 middle of the afternoon of the day she 
 i33
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 went to Daniel s, she heard the latch- 
 string lifted, but thought nothing of it, 
 supposing it to be one of the children. 
 
 "Martha!" 
 
 "Thou here!" exclaimed the Quak 
 eress. 
 
 Arabella was in her arms. The woman 
 did not speak only held the passionate 
 child to her heart. She understood. 
 
 "Now I have seen thee here, I will go 
 back to Friend Hezekiah s and I will be 
 so good to him for thee. I thought I 
 did think thou hadst changed thy mind 
 bout John s meat." 
 
 "About what, child?" 
 
 "John s help-meet." 
 
 "Oh, thou art making thyself unneces 
 sary trouble. I told thee I would not go 
 to John." 
 
 "Papa told me he would not leave me, 
 but he did." 
 
 "Child, I have said often, thou art 
 too old for thy years." 
 
 Daniel came in and saw his sister still 
 holding Arabella in her arms. He 
 134
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 frowned, as he asked, "What bringeth 
 thee here?" 
 
 The Quakeress replied for her. "She 
 will drive the sorrel home that my father 
 can have him if needs be. Wilt thou 
 bring him up, Daniel?" 
 
 When alone: "Do thou not come 
 again, unless my father sends thee. Three 
 miles is not much for thee and me to 
 walk, when there is time; but if thou 
 hadst to go on thy own feet home to 
 night, it would be dark. Now make no 
 delays, but hasten on thy way and mind, 
 tell my father thou hast been here." 
 
 "And wilt thou have me tell him the 
 reason I came to thee?" 
 
 "Child, answer whatsoever my father 
 asks thee, just as it is." 
 
 After Arabella started, the nurse went 
 back to her patient. The old Quaker 
 asked few questions of the child upon her 
 return, being satisfied with the evidence, 
 which his own eyes saw. 
 
 "Didst thou find thy Martha, as I had 
 told thee?"
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Yes, Friend Hezekiah, just as thou 
 didst tell me." 
 
 He bowed his head. 
 
 "Thou dost love her, child?" 
 
 "Yes, and so dost thou." 
 
 The hours passed slowly to the little 
 girl, though she found much to keep her 
 busy. The boys did not come to see her, 
 fearing to intrude ; and in her loneliness 
 she often asked : "Friend Hezekiah dost 
 thou think Martha will come back soon?" 
 
 The third day she received a favorable 
 reply to the question, when he had just 
 returned from Daniel s. "I think by 
 next seventh day." 
 
 "Oh, it is so long to wait." 
 
 "Thou must make thyself contented. 
 Martha is troubling about thee, for fear 
 thou hast too much for thy small hands 
 to do, but I have comforted her by say 
 ing thou hast done well for me." 
 
 "Friend Hezekiah, thou wert good to 
 say that." 
 
 136
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Jane had recovered; and the quiet 
 tenor of Hezekiah s farm-house had been 
 restored. A little more care had been 
 placed upon Martha, after she returned 
 home, for each first or second day she 
 or the child went over the hills to 
 Daniel s house with a basket filled with 
 such provisions as would lessen the labors 
 of her sister-in-law. 
 
 Daniel quite persistently urged that 
 Arabella should remain at his farm for a 
 time, to assist with the work. But to this 
 his sister would not listen. A depression 
 that greatly troubled her, had appeared 
 in the manner of her charge, but, as no 
 word escaped that pointed to the cause, 
 there was nothing tangible in her fears. 
 She had no knowledge of the thrilling 
 events of the war, that were being pic-
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 tured to the child in the heat of the ex 
 citement at the Aliens . No news had 
 been received for some time of the absent 
 father, and grief marked the faces of the 
 boys, for they feared he had fallen on the 
 field of battle. The strain was great on 
 the high-strung companion of their sor 
 rows. Then the report of the patriots 
 march through the city of Philadelphia, 
 down Front and up Chestnut streets 
 with the fife and drum playing merrily, 
 was told to Arabella. The facts reached 
 the farm-house almost at the same time. 
 
 John came out in great haste and 
 seemed too excited to even think of 
 Martha. He left after a short conversa 
 tion with the old man, not having dis 
 mounted from his horse. 
 
 The air seemed filled with forebodings 
 of greater disaster. Arabella saw, from 
 the Quakeress manner that news of an 
 unpleasant nature had been communi 
 cated by John, and, at the first opportun 
 ity, she went to report it to Jack, who 
 greeted her so seriously, that she said, 
 138
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Oak, thee seems sad. What troubles 
 thee?" 
 
 "The British the Tories are getting 
 the best of us. I wish that I might do 
 something for my country." 
 
 "Hast thou heard from thy father?" 
 
 "No, and I fear he has met death." 
 
 "Oh, Oak, thou must take heart. He 
 will come back to thee all right ; only be 
 brave. Martha says jus hope, cause 
 that is the most comforting way. Old 
 John has been at our house again. Yes, 
 he has, and he is a Tory." 
 
 "That is right at last. And what am I, 
 Birdie?" 
 
 "Oh, a wig, to be sure." 
 
 "Bravo, little Quakeress! You are 
 truly growing wise. What did John 
 say?" continued Jack. 
 
 "He jus called Friend Hezekiah out. 
 And do you b lieve, he would not wait 
 to talk to Martha, cause he jus whis 
 pered something and licked his horse 
 until it kicked up so I thought he was 
 going over his head. He is so mean 
 139
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 even horses do n t like him. No, they 
 do n t, cause his was so angry he was 
 all white, and would not stand still. 
 Friend Hezekiah said, Friend John, thou 
 hast used thy horse very hard, and the 
 day is warm. Thou hadst best change 
 here, if thou art going to Gray s Hill. 
 And dost thou know the mean old John 
 left without answering. Friend Heze 
 kiah looked frightened when he had 
 gone. I b lieve he is fraid of him, too. 
 Yes, I do, cause he was so still after he 
 left. Oh, my! exclaimed the child, "it 
 is growing late. There is the horn! ; 
 And she ran away as fast as her feet would 
 carry her, for she noticed a dark cloud 
 rapidly gathering and the wind begin 
 ning to blow. 
 
 As she reached the farm-house all out 
 of breath, Martha exclaimed : "Arabella, 
 I was greatly troubled about thee, for I 
 fear we are going to have a thunder gust, 
 and thou art too young to be alone on 
 the road at such a time. Dost thou 
 know whether the shutters are closed in 
 140
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 thy room? If not thou hadst better see 
 to it." 
 
 The chore-boy laid a fresh log in the 
 big fire-place, and piled the kindling high 
 in the wood-box by the chimney in the 
 kitchen, for Martha said, "That shed 
 leaks so that every stick will be unfit to 
 use for days." 
 
 The predictions proved true. There 
 was little opportunity for the family to 
 sleep that night. Hail-stones rattled 
 against the window-panes, and the wind 
 whistled through every crack and crevice. 
 About four o clock the old Quaker arose, 
 and his daughter, hearing him move 
 about, knew that an early breakfast 
 would be most acceptable, and so she and 
 Arabella soon had the cloth laid. The 
 food remained almost untouched when 
 they arose from the table. All seemed 
 depressed by the raging storm without. 
 The old man placed a chair before the 
 fire-place, and sat with his back to its 
 red glow. He drew another before 
 him, and, crossing his arms over it, laid 
 141
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 his head on them. The Quakeress and 
 her charge were busying themselves 
 about the house, when the sound of 
 horses hoofs attracted their attention. 
 With more spirit than Martha had ever 
 shown before in the presence of the child, 
 she exclaimed, "It must be the Whigs!" 
 
 Arabella quickly replied, "It may be 
 the Tories." 
 
 The startling remark of intelligence as 
 to party must, at any other time, have 
 surprised the woman, but she now hast 
 ened to the large room, followed by the 
 little girl. Just as she reached a win 
 dow, John appeared in the entrance lead 
 ing to the side porch. Arabella slipped 
 into her own room, unseen. Martha re 
 turned to the kitchen, as Hezekiah came 
 forward to welcome not only John, but 
 two British officers. 
 
 The order was immediately given to 
 stable their horses, and John said: "We 
 have no time to lose. Friend Hezekiah, 
 thy house is required for a meeting. 
 Generals Howe and Cornwallis will wait 
 142
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 here for information. It is well the fog 
 has gathered so dense, as it conceals us 
 from curious eyes." 
 
 Hezekiah then said: "You are wel 
 come to all we can do for you and 
 the king. The best room is at your ser 
 vice;" and he opened a door that stuck 
 tight at first from the dampness, and, as 
 it swung back, a cold, penetrating air fell 
 upon the wet and chilled officers. They 
 glanced at the open fire and the cheery 
 surroundings of the living-room, and 
 General Howe remarked, "Why not re 
 main here where it is warm?" Then 
 pointing to the sleeping-rooms, he 
 asked, "Who is in there?" 
 
 "Thou canst see. That is mine; those 
 belong to the women, who are at work in 
 the kitchen." 
 
 General Howe pushed open one door 
 which was ajar, went to the windows and 
 saw that they were closed. General Corn- 
 wallis had examined the others, and, 
 satisfied with the result, they sat down, 
 ordering all the blinds to be drawn. 
 H3
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I will see that you have refresh 
 ments." 
 
 "Not now, Hezekiah," General Howe 
 answered; "after our conference. Busi 
 ness first. See to it we are not inter 
 rupted." 
 
 Hezekiah and John took refuge in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 "Martha, thou wilt see that a hearty 
 meal is provided for our friends." Her 
 father spoke from the door, leading to 
 the kitchen. 
 
 "At once?" 
 
 This called to his mind the remark of 
 the General, and, turning to John, he 
 asked, "What thinkest thou about the 
 time?" 
 
 "I should say an hour or so." 
 
 "Hearest thou, Martha?" 
 
 "Yes, father. Thou hast not in 
 formed me how many will sit at thy table. 
 
 "Four. But do not send the child in 
 here for a while. Friend John and I 
 have somewhat to say." 
 
 Left alone, the two generals gave an- 
 144
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 other careful inspection of the windows 
 about them. The door of Arabella s 
 room stood open. 
 
 "That will not close tight. The damp 
 ness has caused the wood to swell and 
 the latch-string is gone." 
 
 "All right, Cornwallis, I have been in 
 there, and peered even into the closet, and 
 was guilty of a woman s trick lifted the 
 valance and looked under the bed, too." 
 
 General Cornwallis laughed. 
 
 "Well, then we are safe. However, I 
 suppose that should be taken for granted, 
 as John says this man is to be trusted." 
 
 Taking off their coats, they hung them 
 over the chairs to dry. Finally they sat 
 down before the open fire, and held their 
 feet to the heat. Soon the heavy boots 
 began to steam, and they moved slightly 
 back. The occasional crackling from the 
 wood which General Cornwallis took from 
 the box in the chimney corner and threw 
 on the coals, sent out the only sound 
 that could be heard, as each man seemed 
 intent on the business of warming his 
 MS
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 hands. General Howe, after a time, 
 moved to one side. 
 
 "That heat burns my face," he re 
 marked; and, as he changed his position, 
 he faced the entrance to Arabella s room. 
 His eyes fell upon the snowy pillows. 
 
 "I should like to sleep in that bed, 
 Cornwallis." 
 
 The General turned and looked at it. 
 
 " Yes, it certainly is more tempting 
 than the road on a night like last. I 
 hope our scout reports punctually." 
 
 Hardly were the words spoken, when 
 a soft tap was heard. The two generals 
 stepped into Arabella s room, the door 
 being open. As it did not close tight, 
 they watched through the crack to see 
 who the new-comer might be. 
 
 Hezekiah also heard the rap, and went 
 to answer it. To his question, "Who 
 art thou?" the pass-word was given. 
 The key turned in the lock, and a scout 
 was admitted. The officers went back to 
 their seats, and the door again swung 
 open before the bed. 
 146
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Your news?" demanded General 
 Howe of the man in British uniform. 
 
 "Washington has taken post behind 
 Red Clay Creek, and he seems desirous 
 of an attack." 
 
 "The Whig! We will give him one," 
 muttered Howe, as he rose and seated 
 himself before the table, upon which he 
 saw writing materials. He wrote a short 
 time; then, going to the entrance of the 
 dining-room, said: "Give this man some 
 thing to eat, at once, that he may leave." 
 
 Hezekiah reported to Martha. 
 
 "Make no delays. He must lose no 
 time," added Howe. 
 
 The hostess brought in a well-filled 
 plate. The soldier seated himself and 
 began to do justice to the edibles. 
 
 Walking back to the table where lay 
 the message just penned, Howe took it 
 up, re-read it, sat down, and seemed to 
 copy it on a scrap of paper; then sealing 
 the larger missive, he left both on the 
 table. 
 
 "General," said Howe, "we must hem 
 H7
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 this Washington in where he is it is just 
 the place to accomplish our design to 
 cut him off on the road to Lancaster and 
 Philadelphia. It will be impossible for 
 them to get supplies. Better for us that 
 they die of starvation than in open con 
 flict." 
 
 Here the scout entered, and Howe 
 said: "Take that sealed letter. Never 
 stop until it is delivered into the hands 
 of the one to whom it is addressed." 
 
 The man took up the packet, put it in 
 an inside pocket, buttoned his coat, gave 
 the military salute, and went out by the 
 way he came in. 
 
 After some further talk in regard to 
 Washington, Cornwallis said : "I believe 
 I am chilled yet. Suppose we go out 
 and ask for some flip. They must have 
 something of the sort. And we may as 
 well order our breakfast." 
 
 The two men joined Hezekiah and 
 John, and made known their wants. As 
 Howe seated himself, he partially closed 
 the entrance to the living-room. 
 148
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 On the head-post of Arabella s bed 
 the one so admired by the General hung 
 a long, gray cloak, belonging to Martha. 
 From out its shelter now came Arabella. 
 When she fled in dismay from John, and 
 saw the strangers follow him in, her one 
 idea was escape. That accomplished, 
 she found herself a prisoner in her own 
 room. What should she do? Nothing 
 would induce her to face either John or 
 his companions, for she remembered 
 Jack s father told him to beware of the 
 red-coats ; and here they were in her own 
 home. While greetings were exchanged 
 between the men, she looked about for a 
 place of concealment. A glance at the 
 bed, and the little form was hidden by the 
 pillows and cloak. From its folds she 
 watched the British officers, with every 
 sense strained to its utmost power. She 
 must not miss a word. She wanted to tell 
 the Oak. As the generals left the living- 
 room, without an instant s hesitation 
 Arabella slipped cautiously to the floor. 
 Her eyes were riveted on the mirror, 
 149
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 which hung so as to reflect the group 
 gathered round the table. 
 
 Cautiously, and with trembling hands, 
 she removed her heavy shoes. The 
 string of one fastened itself into a hard 
 knot when she attempted to untie it. 
 With a supreme effort she broke it, for 
 it was new and quite strong. When it 
 snapped, great beads of perspiration stood 
 on her face, and she appeared to cease 
 breathing for the moment. She watched 
 to see if the little party had heard it. To 
 her the sound came so loud, she would 
 not have been surprised if it had reached 
 Jack s ears. Through her mind passed 
 the admonition Mr. Allen gave his 
 son: "If you hear any news of the 
 doings of the British that will aid your 
 country, see that our army gets it, if you 
 walk into death to deliver it." These 
 words Arabella had repeated to Jack, 
 asking him their meaning. The idea 
 that Jack and death were associated 
 caused her heart to beat wildly, even at 
 this trying moment, and she deter- 
 150
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 mined, at any risk, to follow Mr. Allen s 
 orders. 
 
 She trembled so when she rose from 
 the floor, where she sat while removing 
 her shoes, that the little limbs almost re 
 fused to hold her. Still she thought, 
 "Yes, I am a wig, and I must do it, 
 cause I must or I shan t be a wig like 
 the Oak. I will do it quick, while thou 
 art out of the dining-room, Martha, 
 cause thou mightst look sad, and I 
 should tell thee. But thou art a Tory, 
 anyway, and the Oak is a wig, and so am 
 I, and John is a Tory. Yes, I will get 
 the paper, cause I can." 
 
 The chairs on which hung the coats, 
 had been pushed so that they afforded 
 some concealment in case of a sudden 
 move. They were drinking, and all four 
 men seemed in earnest conversation. 
 The noise of the glasses being moved 
 about, also aided in covering any slight 
 rustle of clothing the child might make. 
 She stepped softly and lightly, as she 
 went into the large room, and snatched
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 the slip of paper she had seen the General 
 lay on one side, scattering others on the 
 floor and in the fire as she passed. 
 Softly she raised the latch, and flew out 
 into the storm. A strong wind slammed 
 the door leading into the dining-room. 
 
 The men rose and stared an instant at 
 each other. Hezekiah rushed into the 
 adjoining room. 
 
 "It is only the gale," he said. "You 
 did not lock up after the scout left, 
 did you?" Then the Generals remem 
 bered they did not. 
 
 "Hezekiah, much of thy paper that 
 was on the table is blown about," re 
 marked John. "Some seems to have 
 reached the open fire." 
 
 Howe searched in vain for the copy 
 he had intended to keep, but at last was 
 forced to believe, with the others, that 
 the wind had carried it to the fire. 
 
 During the excitement of the officers 
 
 Arabella reached the wood-house. Once 
 
 there she slipped on her shoes, never 
 
 heeding her wet feet. Finding the way 
 
 152
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 clear to go to the pantry, which was be 
 tween the shed and the kitchen, she felt 
 safe, and stood still to calm her throb 
 bing heart 
 
 The Quakeress was just returning from 
 the sitting-room, drawn like the rest to 
 the scene of the commotion. 
 
 Silently sat Arabella on the flour-bin, 
 as if she had been there always. Martha 
 was hurrrying to and fro. 
 
 "The child must now lay the cloth. 
 Why, where is the wee one?" she said 
 aloud. 
 
 "Here I am," came in trembling tones 
 from the big pantry. 
 
 "Where?" demanded the Quakeress. 
 
 "Only right here," as she stepped into 
 view. 
 
 "Child, hast thou been so near me all 
 the time?" 
 
 "And a little while in the woodshed. 
 I am oh! so fraid of John!" 
 
 "Foolish little child, thou must help 
 me now. John is too much troubled 
 about Whigs to care for thee or me.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Here, take the cloth and lay the table for 
 three." 
 
 Arabella hastily obeyed. John was 
 standing before the fire in the next room 
 with Hezekiah. The Generals were still 
 sitting, talking over their flip. 
 
 "Well, well," said Cornwallis, as she 
 proceeded with her duties, "here is a 
 youthful face in this forsaken place. I 
 suppose you are a good Tory, little girl." 
 
 "Wilt thou be so good as to tell me 
 what thou meanest by that?" 
 
 "Oh, it would take too long. Do you 
 obey Hezekiah, and you will be a Tory." 
 
 "Thou must know I do," she replied, 
 looking down at the floor. "And Mar 
 tha, too, even when she bids me go to 
 Daniel s house. I don t like to, cause 
 it is so far, and I am afraid of snakes. 
 But I do." 
 
 "Where is Daniel s?" queried the man. 
 
 "At Chadd s Ford." 
 
 "So ho!" said the General. "This 
 may be interesting information. Who is 
 Daniel?" 
 
 154
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Friend Hezekiah is his father." 
 
 "Cornwallis, we must learn where he 
 lives. This may be of service to us in 
 the future." 
 
 The men lost no time in leaving after 
 the meal was partaken of, and John, who 
 acted as guide, went with them. As 
 they left, Cornwallis remarked: "Pos 
 sibly you will see me this way again." 
 
 The host drew a sigh of relief, as his 
 uninvited guests departed, and again 
 seated himself in his accustomed corner 
 by the fire ; but he moved his hands nerv 
 ously and started at every sound. 
 
 Martha and Arabella were busy in the 
 kitchen. The child ran back and forth 
 to the shed and yard, hurrying out 
 and in. At last the tasks were finished, 
 and Arabella took a little basket from the 
 kitchen and left the house. The Quak 
 eress, as we have seen, allowed her to go 
 about the place unquestioned. She vis 
 ited the barn, filled her basket with eggs, 
 and left it outside while she went for 
 her bonnet and cape. Then taking the
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 basket she started off in the rain unno 
 ticed. 
 
 "I should like to tell Oak, cause I am 
 going that way, so no one will see which 
 way I really, truly, go. I s pect I best 
 not tell and lose time talking, cause 
 Washington is a wig and so am I, cause 
 John is a Tory. I jus s pect John is 
 trying to get Washington into trouble, 
 jus like getting me into trouble, trying 
 to take Martha away." Thus solilo 
 quized Arabella as onward she trudged. 
 
 It was early morning, though the day 
 seemed far spent to the little girl, who 
 had risen so early and passed through 
 such startling experiences. The rain had 
 ceased, but it was cold and bleak, and 
 the child s feet, at every step, sunk deep 
 into the soft turf. She dared not run for 
 fear the eggs would break, and it seemed 
 a longer distance to the Ford than ever 
 before. Seeing a wood-chopper at work, 
 she stopped and asked, Wilt thou tell 
 me the way to Wilmington?" 
 
 The man seemed astonished. 
 156
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Why, it is across the Brandywine." 
 
 "Wilt thou tell me how I can get 
 there?" 
 
 "You can not go alone. The stream 
 must be forded. After this rain it would 
 go over your head." 
 
 "Is Christiana far?" she asked. 
 
 "That is on the other side, too. Quak 
 ers are mostly Tories," he muttered. 
 
 Child, as she was, her intuition told her 
 she had asked too many questions, but 
 she must know the way. She had heard 
 the two Generals talking of the proximity 
 of Red Clay Creek to Christiana, and she 
 thought, if she could reach that place, 
 the rest would be easy. 
 
 "I s pose I best not go there, but I 
 want to take something to a Friend." 
 
 "Well, if you could get over at all, 
 Pyle s Ford would be a good place." 
 
 "Oh, I know where that is," she ex 
 claimed joyfully. "I pass that when I 
 go to Chadd s Ford." 
 
 "Yes, that is the place." 
 
 Arabella now hastened on. She met
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 several farmers, but they paid slight at 
 tention to her. To some of them she 
 was known as belonging to Daniel s 
 father s family. When within about a 
 quarter of a mile of Pyle s Ford, she saw 
 a man moving slowly among the trees, 
 just on the bank of the Brandywine. 
 The spot was lonely and surrounded by 
 deep forests, the wind whistled through 
 the branches, and the leaves of early au 
 tumn were falling about her. The lone 
 liness of the situation seemed to inspire 
 her to heroic action. A second glance at 
 the man approaching her revealed the 
 fact it was the scout who had that morn 
 ing breakfasted at the farm-house. The 
 man was at her side, and, as he spoke to 
 her, she looked up in his face. 
 
 "Sis, where are you going?" 
 
 "I am not Sis, so there." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "Hezekiah sand Martha s child, where 
 thou hadst breakfast this morning." 
 
 "Oh, you are! Where do they live?" 
 
 "Thou knowest, and Martha says 
 158
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Thou must not ask idle questions. I 
 saw General Cornwallis and Howe. Yes, 
 I did," seeing his disbelief of her words 
 in his manner. "Thou thinkest I did 
 not, but I did; and I told them I went to 
 Daniel s house, and Daniel is Hezekiah s 
 son." 
 
 "Oh, he is!" said the soldier. 
 
 "And Cornwallis said I was a little 
 Tory. Yes, he did ; and talked oh ! so 
 nice to me in the dining-room, when I 
 went in to lay the cloth, and he was 
 drinking flip. Yes, he was." Then sud 
 denly she exclaimed, almost in the same 
 breath, "Didst thou like the breakfast 
 Martha gave thee, with apple-butter?" 
 
 "Well, this nasty morning almost any 
 thing will brace a man up, Sis." 
 
 "Now, thou must not call me Sis. 
 Oh, say, s posin thou carriest me cross 
 Pyle s Ford; then I will not have to go 
 way to Daniel s." 
 
 The man eyed her curiously. 
 
 "Where are you going?" he asked 
 sharply.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Jus* to see a Friend and carry these," 
 she said, pointing to her basket of eggs. 
 
 "This seems a rough morning to send 
 a child out," he remarked. 
 
 "Oh, thou dost not understand! 
 Friends jus go if they must, cause Mar 
 tha says, It is duty, not weather, takes 
 thee. Wilt thou carry me cross? I 
 will give thee breakfast to-morrow, if 
 thou wilt come for it." 
 
 "Whom are you going to see?" 
 
 "Only a Friend. Many Friends live 
 over there. Yes, they do. I can show 
 thee. Hast thou been there?" 
 
 The man did not reply to her ques 
 tion. 
 
 "Wilt thou take me over?" 
 
 By this time they had reached Pyle s 
 Ford. Child and soldier stood looking 
 on the river. 
 
 "How shall I carry you?" he said, ir 
 resolutely. "I suppose in my arms," an 
 swering his own question. 
 
 "No, stoop down, and I will show 
 thee." 
 
 160
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "How do I know but that you are a 
 spy, going to the" Then he stopped. 
 The pure, innocent face forbade the 
 speech. 
 
 "Going to what?" asked Arabella, 
 when he hesitated. 
 
 "Do you want me to say it," asked 
 the scout. 
 
 "Martha says that if it is not pleasing 
 to the Lord, we must not speak." 
 
 "See here, Sis, just let Martha rest, 
 and come along with me, and have 
 Mother Meg search you." 
 
 "What is that about Mother Meg? 
 Martha is not tired." 
 
 The scout laughed aloud. 
 
 "Sis, you are the oldest for your size, 
 I ever saw. I am afraid to carry you 
 over until I know Washington will be 
 none the wiser for it. Come to Meg s 
 house and we will see." 
 
 "Why, she lives way far over there. 
 And, too, I am fraid of her. Martha 
 says prob ly she is very kind, but I am 
 fraid any way." 
 
 161
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Here s Meg now, coming down the 
 road." 
 
 Arabella s very temples bounded as 
 the woman drew near. 
 
 "Meg," said the soldier, "this girl 
 wants me to ford the river with her, but 
 how do I know she is not carrying a let 
 ter to that Yankee camp. Just take her 
 behind that shed and search her well." 
 
 Arabella, panic- stricken, followed the 
 woman, for she feared to refuse obedience 
 to the scout s order. The old woman s 
 house was a rendezvous for the British, 
 as she was a Tory of the staunchest kind. 
 Arabella had great reason to tremble be 
 fore her. The woman was large, and 
 brusque in manner, and would spare no 
 one, if she knew he was a Whig. 
 
 "What have you in that basket, be 
 fore we go any farther?" she asked. 
 
 "Eggs," replied Arabella. 
 
 "Who for?" 
 
 "Oh, Friends." 
 
 "Are you a Quaker?" 
 
 "Martha is." 
 
 162
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I asked if you were," persisted Meg. 
 
 "I am not born, Martha says," 
 
 "She does, hey? Well you seem to 
 be very much born ." 
 
 Here the scout interrupted, "Why 
 do n t you make the search and let her 
 go, instead of waiting here in the mud all 
 day?" 
 
 Tend to your own business," said 
 Meg. "Put down that basket. I will 
 tend to that later." 
 
 Arabella wondered what was to hap 
 pen next, as she followed the woman. 
 Her shoes and stockings were removed, 
 and every garment examined, as she 
 stood under an old shed. This search, 
 however, did not alarm her, but what 
 would happen to her treasure? While 
 she was dressing, Meg lifted the eggs 
 from the ground. 
 
 "Please be careful not to break them, 
 cause that s Martha s best basket, and 
 she never, never will let me take it again 
 if I spoil it." 
 
 Without appearing to hear the child s 
 163
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 remark, Meg glanced over the eggs, mov 
 ing them about. As she broke one, cover 
 ing her fingers with the golden contents, 
 she stooped down and wiped her hands 
 on the wet grass. Returning to the 
 scout she exchanged a few words with 
 him, and the old woman went on, as 
 Arabella again appeared before the sol 
 dier. 
 
 "For an innocent you have had a hard 
 time. Get on my back, and I will soon 
 have you over." 
 
 "I think Martha would say you were 
 not led, cause you are not good to me 
 so there!" 
 
 "I am not good! Well, I think I am 
 to take you across the stream. Look out 
 for your eggs. Don t break them on my 
 back. Here we go!" 
 
 She rested her basket on his shoulders 
 and held it there with one hand the 
 other she threw about his neck. He rose 
 with her and stepped down into the 
 water. Once on the other side, he 
 dropped her from off his back and, be- 
 164
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 fore she had time to thank him, started 
 to return. 
 
 Without any thought as to direction 
 she followed the path before her, and ran 
 as fast as her feet would carry her, for 
 getful even of the eggs which were danc 
 ing about. She met a boy about her 
 own age, to whom she ventured to speak. 
 
 "Wilt thou tell me the way to Red 
 Clay Creek?" 
 
 "Oh, my! it s far that way." 
 
 She asked no more. 
 
 "Say, can you walk it, Sis?" 
 
 She pretended not to hear, but kept 
 on for a long distance, not daring to in 
 quire again. She began to grow ex 
 tremely weary and her feet were sore, 
 but she would not give up. At last she 
 saw a man whom, from Jack s descrip 
 tion, she took to be an American soldier. 
 
 "Wilt thou tell met he way to Chris 
 tiana?" 
 
 He replied to her question surlily. 
 
 "Then I am now at Red Clay Creek 
 am I?" 
 
 165
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "You better go on, Sis. I have no 
 time to talk to you." 
 
 "Is this where Friend George Wash 
 ington is now?" 
 
 The sentinel did not condescend to 
 glance at her. 
 
 "Thou art not a Friend, cause 
 Martha says Friends must always be 
 kind when they are born. Please 
 may I go in and see if Washington 
 lives here?" 
 
 The man turned, annoyed at her per 
 sistence. 
 
 "No, Sis, you cannot." 
 
 Catching Jack s phraseology, she ex 
 claimed, "Mr. Man, every one like thee 
 calls me Sis. I do not like soldiers, any 
 way." Then abruptly, "S posin* I jus 
 run in anyway?" 
 
 "S posin you don t," was his retort. 
 
 "See here, man, if thou wilt not let 
 me pass, I will scream Washington, let 
 me in. 
 
 As she spoke, she saw a fine-looking 
 officer pass between the trees, at some 
 1 66
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 distance from the spot where the two 
 were talking. 
 
 "Is that Washington?" 
 
 The guard turned to see. Quicker 
 than thought she evaded him, as his eyes, 
 for an instant, followed the direction in 
 which she pointed. Arabella seemed 
 scarcely to touch the ground, as her little 
 feet carried her on. Reaching the soldier, 
 she almost gasped, "Art thou Washing 
 ton? Quick I must hurry back." 
 
 The remark was addressed to no less a 
 personage than LaFayette. 
 
 "Child, what do you here?" Seeing 
 the sentinel watching and slowly advanc 
 ing, he signaled him back. 
 
 Recognizing his French accent, she 
 replied in that tongue, "Don t let that 
 man come. He said I could not see 
 Washington, and I ran in. Are you 
 Friend George?" 
 
 LaFayette failed to reply, but gazed in 
 wonder. A Quakeress garb and a French 
 child! What does it mean? A second 
 look. No, she is light. 
 167
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Art thou Friend George?" 
 
 "Follow me, little girl. I will take 
 you to General Washington." 
 
 Arabella needed no second bidding. 
 After a short walk, taken in silence, he 
 stopped before a marquee. 
 
 "Wait here, little girl." 
 
 Arabella, now almost breathless, kept 
 her eyes on the tent, fearing no one 
 would come. Several minutes elapsed, 
 and she called as loud as her trembling 
 voice would permit, "George Washing 
 ton, thou must come out." A shout of 
 laughter went up, and, for the first time, 
 the excited child saw the soldiers standing 
 around. 
 
 LaFayette replied to her call by say 
 ing, "Come in, little girl," and she 
 obeyed the command. Before her was 
 the tall form of Washington. Looking 
 earnestly into his face, she said, "Art 
 thou Friend George Washington?" 
 
 A smile was on his lips, as he placed 
 his hand on the curly head. She had 
 untied her bonnet strings because she was 
 168
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 warm from running, and as she threw 
 her head back to look up into the face 
 of the tall man before her, the bonnet 
 fell off, but she did not notice its 
 loss. LaFayette stood, an onlooker, 
 fully appreciating the picture before 
 him. 
 
 "Yes, child, I am George Washington. 
 And who are you?" 
 
 Not noticing his question in her desire 
 to tell her story, she continued, "Art 
 thou a wig?" This was too much for 
 the two men, and, exchanging a quick 
 glance, they would have laughed outright, 
 but Arabella had caught the look. Her 
 expression changed ; that sensitive lip 
 quivered. 
 
 The General repented and said: "Here, 
 little girl, sit down. Take your time. 
 You seem tired." He placed her on a 
 seat. It was necessary for her now to 
 make a still greater effort to look up into 
 the face of General Washington ; and 
 with her basket of eggs still in her hand, 
 she rose from the scat, and in an instant 
 169
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 was standing on it. General Washing 
 ton looked astonished. 
 
 "What is that for?" 
 
 "I want to see thee, cause Oak says 
 thou art a great man. Art thou?" 
 
 "Well, child, I must be in stature in 
 your eyes at least." 
 
 "Art thou a Friend?" she asked sol 
 emnly. 
 
 "What made you think so?" the Gen 
 eral asked. 
 
 " Cause thou saidest, child . Friend 
 Hezekiah does, but the man I asked to 
 bring me to you called me Sis , and the 
 other man in the woods, who was at the 
 farm-house, called me Sis . Art thou a 
 wig?" she exclaimed suddenly, being re 
 called to her business with the thought 
 of the scout. 
 
 "Yes, child, I am a Whig." 
 
 "Howe called thee a wig last night." 
 
 Again the two men exchanged glances, 
 this time full of inquiring earnestness. 
 
 "Are you a Tory?" asked General 
 
 170
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Washington, to see if she could distin 
 guish the difference. 
 
 "Oh, no, cause John is. I am a wig. 
 John and Friend Hezekiah and, I s pects, 
 Martha, is Tories, but I am a wig." 
 
 "Why did you say you were a Whig?" 
 
 " Cause I will not be jus the same as 
 mean old John. He is a Friend, jus like 
 Friend Hezekiah, and he wants to have 
 Martha let me go, cause then he s poses 
 he can get her to be moved to go and 
 keep his house, cause he told her she was 
 comely. The Oak told me that meant 
 pretty. Martha is, oh, so good; and I 
 know that s why John wants her, cause 
 I heard him tell her under my window, 
 Martha, thou shouldst walk with me, I 
 am moved to believe. But I am brew 
 ing. 
 
 "You are what?" exclaimed the Gen 
 eral. 
 
 "Martha says when people talk too 
 
 much about things, they brew trouble. 
 
 I came cause John wants thee and me 
 
 out of the way. Yes, cause with thee, 
 
 171
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 he says, out of the way, the Tories would 
 soon have America; and me out of the 
 way, he thinks he would have Martha. 
 Perhaps he would. I don t know so 
 very sure bout it. So this morning he 
 brought General Howe, the man called 
 him, and General Cornwallis. I think it 
 was like that, but Friend Hezekiah and 
 John just said Friend Howe and Friend 
 Cornwallis." 
 
 "What more?" asked Washington, as 
 she hesitated. 
 
 "John brought them; yes he did. Oh, 
 it was dark truly it was," she added 
 earnestly, as the two men scrutinized her 
 closely. "I jus s posed John came to 
 take Martha, when I was asleep. I am so 
 fraid. I wanted her to hide, /always 
 do, so he won t find me; cause he says, 
 Martha, thou art foolish to care for the 
 foundling. But I am hers yes I am. 
 Friend Hezekiah well, he is different, 
 and he says, To be sure the child is not 
 born". So when John came, I ran into 
 my room." 
 
 172
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The child ceased speaking, as if she had 
 told all she had to say, when Washington 
 again recalled her to the story of the vis 
 itors. "Did you hear anything more?" 
 
 "I am so thirsty," said the artless 
 child. 
 
 Seeing her exhausted condition, from 
 the rapid and excited manner in which 
 she had told the startling news, they 
 gave her the water, and allowed her to 
 rest a few moments. Then Washington 
 said, "What about Cornwallis and Howe. 
 Did you hear them talk?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! John said they must be 
 alone. Friend Hezekiah was going to 
 put them in the best room, but one 
 thought it seemed cold and there was a 
 big fire where they were. Then I was 
 trembling for fear they would hear me ; 
 and my door would not stay closed, 
 cause the latch-string was gone; and I 
 just jumped on the bed, and hid my head 
 in under the pillows, and put Martha s 
 cloak before me and on me, cause it was 
 jus like a curtain on the high post. And
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Howe came in and looked at the window 
 and felt the cloak and my dress. Cause 
 they look jus like, he did not see me, I 
 s pose. My feet were hid in my dress. 
 And he must be such a fraidy, cause he 
 looked under the bed, and Martha says 
 only foolish women do that. Then thou 
 shouldst have heard them talk, cause it 
 was most bout thee. And then a man 
 came. He was not dressed the same, 
 and he said General Howe; and she 
 tried to give the military salute as she 
 said he did, "So. Friend Hezekiah says 
 thou must not do anything to make 
 one feel proud. And then the man 
 told Howe and Cornwallis where thou 
 wert, and that thou seemed to want to 
 fight or something that meant it. Dost 
 thou?" 
 
 "Time can answer better than I." 
 "Then," continued Arabella, "Friend 
 George Washington, I have brought thce 
 something. See!" And she took an egg 
 from the bottom of the basket, and 
 handed it to him. He was struck by its 
 174
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 lightness. "Thou canst see the hole!" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 He looked. At the end was one she 
 had made, from which to drink the 
 
 egg- 
 No suspicion crossed his mind. 
 "Well, little girl, what shall I do 
 now?" 
 
 "Break it. There is something in it 
 for thee." 
 
 A slight pressure, the shell lay crumbled 
 in his hand and with it a paper, twisted 
 very small like a cornucopia. He took it 
 up and spread it out. The trio were as 
 silent as death while General Washing 
 ton read. Then, without comment, he 
 folded it up. 
 
 "Friend George, he said something 
 too. Shall I be brewing if I tell thee?" 
 "No, child, older heads than yours 
 have done the brewing . Proceed and 
 tell me every word you can remember." 
 "Howe I never call Tories Friends 
 Howe jus said, when the man told him 
 thou wast here, he was glad. Yes, he
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 did, cause he said he would make thee 
 starve. Is n t that being hungry?" 
 
 "Go on. What more do you remem 
 ber?" 
 
 "Oh, he said thou must be cut off on 
 the roads to Lancaster and Philadelphia. 
 Yes, he did ; and I jus guess he said 
 something like its being better than 
 fighting to keep thee here. Now, I 
 must hurry back, cause Martha will 
 wonder." 
 
 "How did you get here, child?" 
 "I jus walked all the way. S posin 
 I can t find any one to carry me back. I 
 am too small to ford the river." 
 
 "How did you cross to come here?" 
 "Oh, the man who told General Howe 
 bout thee met me in the woods, and I 
 asked him to please bring me over, cause 
 I wanted to give the eggs to a Friend. 
 And then I told him I saw him at Heze- 
 kiah s house, and he had apple-butter for 
 breakfast. And Jie did not look in my 
 basket at all, cause he s posed, I guess, 
 there was only nothing much, but he made 
 176
 
 "Break it. There is something in it for thee."
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Mother Meg search my clothes and my 
 basket, too. Then he took me on his 
 back cause he b lieved I would have to 
 go to Chadd s Ford for Daniel to carry me 
 over. He did bring me to thee yes he 
 did; but I s pose he is a really, truly 
 Tory. I s pect I best like him though. 
 Now, I must go, quick, cause I did not 
 tell I was going to Daniel s." 
 
 "Who is Daniel?" asked General 
 Washington. 
 
 "Martha s brother. He says I was 
 not born , so I jus call him Daniel." 
 
 "What do you mean by not being 
 born ? LaFayette asked, speaking to her 
 for the first time since she came in. He 
 had been watching her with mingled feel 
 ings of curiosity and surprise. 
 
 "I s pose cause I am not really, truly 
 born with these clothes on. Martha 
 said Wilt thou like to wear clothes like 
 mine? She was born ." 
 
 General Washington seemed to take 
 slight notice of the dialogue between La 
 Fayette and the child, and he recalled 
 177
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 her to her story, which had deep interest 
 for him. 
 
 "You are a brave child. And now I 
 must know how you got this note." 
 
 Arabella told every detail of her flight 
 to the wood-shed, and she added, "When 
 Martha told me to empty the dish-water, 
 but be sure not to throw it before our 
 kitchen door, I jus* took it to the barn 
 yard ; and, while there, I got the egg, 
 drank what was in it, and took this paper 
 out of my shoe and put it in the shell. I 
 s pect it will be, oh, so dark when I get 
 home. I hope Martha will be fixing 
 Friend Hezekiah s night-cap on, and 
 taking his wig off, and opening his bed. 
 It takes her ever so long, cause thou 
 seest Friend Hezekiah says, Martha, 
 thou art too sprightly for thy father. 
 Thou must take time, cause it maketh 
 me pant. Yes, he does. So, I will have 
 lots of time before I see her in the 
 kitchen, and I can jus s pose I have 
 been there a long time." 
 
 LaFayette spoke aside to the General, 
 178
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 and then, approaching Arabella, who 
 seemed to have forgotten her elevated 
 position, lifted her down. As he did so, 
 he placed his fingers under her chin and 
 raised her head. He seemed to look at 
 her face, while, as a matter of fact, he 
 studied the scar. Washington scanned 
 it, while LaFayette engaged the child in 
 conversation. Then he left the marquee, 
 General Washington still questioning his 
 youthful visitor. 
 
 "Are you going to Daniel s?" 
 
 "No, cause I can not tell Martha. I 
 want to hurry home fast as ever I can. 
 Oh, see my dress! All egg!" 
 
 It was the first time she had noticed it. 
 
 LaFayette, with another man, came 
 in just in time to hear her say, "Martha 
 will feel so bad, cause she always does 
 when I destroy, cause she says, Wee 
 one, thou must be pleasing to Friend 
 Hezekiah, and to be so thou must not 
 need much in the way of dresses or bon 
 nets, cause they are extra. And now 
 see!" pointing to her stained dress. 
 179
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The Marquis de la Rouerie, who had 
 come into the tent with LaFayette, said 
 in French, "This is a brave soldier girl, 
 Marquis." 
 
 Arabella replied in French: "No, I 
 am not brave, cause I was dreadfully 
 frightened, and that made me break my 
 eggs." 
 
 LaFayette, in a smiling, teasing way, 
 again placed his finger under her chin 
 and said "Marquis, see the ring of gold 
 around her mouth." The three men 
 now closely eyed the scar. The child, 
 as she gazed at the new-comer, nervously 
 and impulsively exclaimed, Thou lookest 
 like my papa!" Then, frightened at her 
 own words, she hastily added "But I m 
 Martha s now." 
 
 "Who was your papa before Martha 
 had you?" the Marquis inquired in 
 French. 
 
 "I must go now." 
 
 "Will you tell me where you live?" 
 
 "Only a few miles; jus by Jack Allen s 
 house." 
 
 180
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 It so happened Jack was the name of 
 the Oak s father. 
 
 "Is that so? I know him," said Gen 
 eral Washington. 
 
 "Dost thou? I call him Oak; and his 
 father is a soldier, too." 
 
 "You must mean a son of Captain 
 Jack. Their farm is by the cross-roads." 
 
 "That is jus side of Friend Heze- 
 kiah s house, too. Where is my bonnet? 
 Oh, where is it ? Is it lost ? she inquired, 
 as she did not see it after turning around 
 several times. 
 
 "Here it is," said LaFayette. "What 
 did you say your name was?" 
 
 "Arabella." 
 
 "Well, here is your bonnet." 
 
 As she placed it on her head, General 
 Washington brought a wet towel, and 
 began removing the egg from her dress. 
 
 It all comes off. And the three men, 
 two of them holding the little skirt out, 
 while the third rubbed the spots, wiped 
 away all traces of the accident. 
 
 "Always remember what you have 
 181
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 done for me to-day, and that I shall never 
 forget you," said Washington. 
 
 "Wilt thou please give me one of thy 
 pretty buttons, so I can show Oak." 
 
 "Yes, and tell Jack Allen to keep it for 
 you until you are grown up, or the war is 
 over, and the Quakeress will let you 
 have it; but do not show it to them 
 now," he said, as he handed her the cov 
 eted treasure he had cut from his coat. 
 
 Then a lunch was brought the child ; 
 and, as she ate it, the men noticed, for 
 the first time, her wet feet and damp 
 cape. When she was ready to start they 
 wrapped her in a dry cloak, and sent her 
 with a man on horseback. 
 
 "It would take you a long time to 
 walk it, and it is past noon, said her host. 
 
 "I am so fraid John will find out," 
 said Arabella. 
 
 "No, he will not." And seeing her 
 seated behind the guardsman on the 
 horse s back, the three men took her lit 
 tle hand, each in turn, in his, and General 
 Washington pressed it to his lips. 
 182
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "You have risked even your life to 
 help save America. 
 
 Arabella started for home all uncon 
 scious of the tumult which existed on 
 that day in the camps of the opposing 
 parties, and her close proximity to the 
 scenes of a battle. 
 
 As the men again entered the marquee, 
 LaFayette said: "I tell you, General, I 
 have noted that birth-mark too often on 
 the neck of the Prince de Gra to be mis 
 taken. She is in some way connected 
 with him. In what manner, however, 
 may remain a mystery. The Marquis, 
 here, well remembers it." 
 
 "Yes, it is, I think, exactly the same." 
 
 "And the strange thing to me is the 
 child s perfect French, although living 
 with Quakers. And," said LaFayette, 
 "from her childish talk of their form of 
 speech, she is evidently adopted, which 
 seems to be distasteful to the sect. This 
 Martha she speaks of is, beyond ques 
 tion, gentle and loving to her." 
 
 "From the affection the little child 
 183
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 bears her, she must take the place of a 
 mother to her," replied Washington. 
 
 Then LaFayette said: "Marquis take 
 down her name and the facts, and I will 
 do the same. If I fall in battle, promise 
 me you will see the Prince, if you return 
 to France, and, if not, you will write and 
 lay this remarkable circumstance before 
 him." 
 
 "And, General, if we both meet death, 
 to you is left the duty of learning to 
 whom your little hero-worshiper be 
 longs." 
 
 Thus the compact was sealed between 
 them. 
 
 Arabella made quick time in gaining 
 the Oak s, where she went to tell her 
 adventure before returning home. She 
 saw Jack at the well as she advanced to 
 ward the house. 
 
 "Hello, Birdie. I have been looking 
 for you all day." 
 
 "Oak, I have much to tell thee. Come 
 to a place all by ourselves; and it best 
 be in the house." 
 
 184
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Once alone with him, she related the 
 exciting experiences of the day. He 
 seemed stunned. " You did it, Birdie?" 
 
 "No, I did not alone," she replied. 
 "Howe, Cornwallis, George Washington 
 oh, he is so tall and wears his sword 
 and boots with spurs. Didst thou know 
 it? and the Marquis an LaFayette he 
 has red hair, oh, so red! and mean old 
 John and me too, all helped do it; so 
 there! And now I will leave my cloak 
 here and my basket, too, and thou wash 
 the egg off, when thou hast time. Wilt 
 thou walk home with me jus as s posin 
 I had been here all day? Friend George 
 Washington said old heads did brew 
 first." 
 
 "And did you tell Washington about 
 brewing?" 
 
 "Course I did, and bout Martha. Oh, 
 canst thou not take her something to di 
 vert her? cause when Friend Hezekiah 
 gets to pondering bout anything, she 
 jus says, I will go and divert father. 
 Then he will not think bout worrying.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 "How will cider do?" 
 
 "Jus* the best thing, cause ours is 
 not ready, and Martha likes it." 
 
 A pail was filled, and they started. 
 
 "Birdie, I think you are the bravest 
 little girl that ever lived." 
 
 "Dost thou? Then do thou jus treas 
 ure this button until Martha tells me she 
 is a wig. Then I can take it from 
 thee." 
 
 "She never will." 
 
 "Yes, she will, cause some day I will 
 tell her that thou art, and thy father 
 and all thy brothers are. Then, when 
 she hears that, I will whisper softly in 
 her ear, Martha, I am too, cause John 
 and Daniel wanted to send me way, and 
 they are Tories; and the Oak and all be 
 longs to him want me to stay, and they 
 be wigs; and then, Martha, thou want- 
 est me to stay with thee, so thou art a 
 wig like me, too ! 
 
 "I would not be much surprised if she 
 did turn, if you tell her that story just as 
 you have told it to me." 
 186
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The Quakeress was in the yard when 
 they reached the farm-house. 
 
 "Why, child, where hast thou been so 
 long? Oh, wee one! I was only wait 
 ing for the chore-boy to come in to send 
 for thee." 
 
 "Did I trouble thee? I am so sorry!" 
 And, throwing back her bonnet, she 
 turned her face up to the Quakeress to 
 be kissed. 
 
 "Miss Martha" 
 
 "Just Martha, please, Jack," said the 
 gentle-voiced woman. "Friends never 
 speak after that manner." 
 
 And the boy, fearful of erring again 
 by too much politeness, cut short his re 
 marks by saying "I have some cider for 
 thee." 
 
 "That is very thoughtful. I am truly 
 pleased to know thou didst remember 
 me." 
 
 "And," continued Jack, taking cour 
 age, "I would like to ask you to forgive 
 Arabella for remaining away so long; 
 there was so much for her to do to-day." 
 187
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Thou knowest Arabella is a tender 
 hearted child, and will not leave thee 
 while she can do thee a service. So, in 
 the future, when there are many things 
 to detain her, do thou send little Henry 
 over to inform me." 
 
 1 88
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Two o clock in the morning of the 
 ninth of September, 1777, and the day 
 following Arabella s visit to General 
 Washington, found Red Clay Creek being 
 deserted by the American army ; and 
 Howe, to his surprise, learned that they 
 were posted on high ground at Chadd s 
 Ford. The Brandywine had been crossed, 
 and a most desirable position had been 
 secured. Sullivan was given command 
 of the right wing that the fords above 
 might receive protection, while, for a dis 
 tance of some two miles below, General 
 Armstrong, with the Pennsylvania militia, 
 stood guard. 
 
 Before the next morning, the tenth, 
 
 two columns of the British marched to 
 
 Kennett Square, about seven miles from 
 
 the post of Washington. The farmers at 
 
 189
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Chadd s Ford and about that part of the 
 country, took fright, and, notwithstand 
 ing the promises of General Howe to the 
 people, that they or their property 
 should not be molested, many of them 
 left their homes to seek a place of greater 
 safety. Among those who fled was 
 Daniel with his family. He reached his 
 father s house in great excitement, tell 
 ing them that the Whigs were in posses 
 sion of the Ford, and it was possible the 
 disturbance would reach Hezekiah s. 
 
 "Do thou remain here in peace, Dan 
 iel," said his father. "Thou art as safe 
 here as on the road." 
 
 Jane was helpless; and the children, 
 not realizing from what danger they fled, 
 but out of pure sympathy, dropped 
 scalding tears down their plump little 
 cheeks. Arabella tried to amuse them, 
 and went about fearlessly. She had seen 
 Washington, and she trusted him. 
 
 Thus two days passed at Hezekiah s in 
 supplication and anxiety. John rode 
 over on the tenth, but Hezekiah did not 
 190
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 reveal the purport of his hurried visit. 
 And then the roar of cannon was heard 
 in earnest. Peal after peal rang through 
 the air. Jane was almost in a frenzy of 
 fright, but Martha closed her white lips 
 tight, and Arabella was kept close to her 
 side, while they ministered to the wants 
 of the little children of Daniel. Jack 
 could not leave the boys, so all that long 
 day Arabella and he did not see each other. 
 The battle of Brandywine commenced 
 on the morning of the eleventh of Sep 
 tember, 17/7. Day had just dawned 
 when General Cornwallis, with his divi 
 sion, was moving along the Lancaster 
 road. It was his plan to surprise the 
 Americans by opening fire upon the right 
 wing commanded by Sullivan, and Knyp- 
 hausen, with a show of cannon and com 
 motion, was to gain the attention of 
 Washington who, in fact, was being sur 
 rounded from east and west. At nine 
 o clock a fog enveloped that part of the 
 country, sentries were misled as to their 
 own party, and confusion arose. 
 191
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The hill in close proximity to the Bir 
 mingham meeting-house was reached by 
 Cornwallis. Washington encouraged his 
 men by appearing before them, and the 
 cheers at sight of their commander told 
 of their devotion to him. The conflict 
 ing information he was receiving at that 
 time was a cause of the gravest anxiety 
 to him ; and the results of the day proved 
 that it was not without reason. 
 
 At last, the true situation was discov 
 ered, but it was all too late to benefit the 
 American cause. Sullivan was not in 
 readiness to meet the attack of Cornwal 
 lis, which was severe and marked by 
 haste. The American forces held out 
 until overtaken by eventide, when, dis 
 couraged and beaten, they fled in distress 
 and confusion to Chester, while the 
 water of the Brandywine went on its 
 course, reddened with the blood of foes 
 that were brothers. The bleeding and 
 dying had not only slaked their thirst 
 theie, but had left their life blood, as 
 they forded the stream. 
 192
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 During the night that portion of the 
 American army that had been engaged 
 on the Brandywine reported at Chester, 
 having reached there by different routes, 
 leaving the enemy in possession of the 
 scene of the late conflict. 
 
 On the twelfth, General Washington 
 led his vanquished men from Chester, 
 their faces turned toward Philadelphia. 
 They went into camp near Germantown, 
 where they rested a short time, and re 
 ceived a new supply of ammunition and 
 hope. The latter was much needed. 
 
 About three weeks had elapsed since 
 the battle of Brandywine, and General 
 Washington had been almost constantly 
 on the move. He crossed and recrossed 
 the Schuylkill, and took post at Penni- 
 becker s Mills. Howe was encamped at 
 Germantown, and General Washington 
 only waited an opportunity to give the 
 enemy fight, wherever they might meet. 
 The hour arrived sooner than he ex 
 pected it ; but again fog had its dire effect 
 upon the American cause, and the great 
 193
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 commander knew that his men were again 
 in full retreat. 
 
 To General Washington it was not only 
 a sorrow, but a mortification. And still, 
 from the pyre of the vanquished warrior s 
 hopes, rose a beacon light whose radiance 
 stretched across the blue Atlantic, from 
 shore to shore, and penetrated the hearts 
 of those who heard of the brave struggle 
 against adversity. The loss of German- 
 town became the means of proving to 
 France the magnificent courage of the 
 American general in command. The help 
 ing hand of that country was extended, 
 and clasped in fellowship that of America. 
 
 Cold weather soon set in, and Wash 
 ington began to think of winter quarters. 
 His men were suffering for the necessaries 
 of life, and he saw but one course to pur 
 sue; go into camp for some months. But 
 where? The protected ground of Valley 
 Forge in Montgomery County, Pennsyl 
 vania, seemed to meet the demand. It 
 is surrounded by high hills known as Mt. 
 Sorrow, and through it flows East Valley 
 194
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Creek, which empties into the Schuylkill 
 River. Here Washington brought his 
 men to sufferings and misery that pen 
 fails to describe. With bleeding feet and 
 almost naked bodies, the soldiers worked, 
 building their quarters. Often they took 
 upon themselves the burden of dragging 
 the improvised vehicles filled with neces 
 sary articles, and many carried wood and 
 other packs on their backs. 
 
 So great was the need of clothing 
 that some of the men could not endure 
 the exposure while working on the huts 
 in which they must live. Here in this 
 beautiful valley, the brave suffered and 
 died a death harder than that met on the 
 battle-field. Sickness and starvation only 
 found relief in the "long sleep that knows 
 no waking." General Washington, with 
 his wife, encouraged, cared for and prayed 
 for the suffering men through those long 
 days. But the end came at last ; and 
 from the valley of the shadow to the 
 mountain top of fame, they marched 
 away. 
 
 195
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 The exciting scenes of war had passed 
 away from the country about Hezekiah s 
 farm. Daniel and his family had re 
 turned home, and things at Martha s 
 moved along as usual. Only Arabella and 
 the old Quaker were restless; the child, 
 because Jack was troubled about his 
 father, and the old man on account of 
 the disturbing news John brought. 
 
 He did not believe a Friend in the 
 right to take so active a part in the 
 war. 
 
 "I am convinced that if the elders talk 
 with John, thou needest not be surprised 
 to hear he has been disowned," he said, 
 in mournful tones, to his daughter. 
 
 "Father, John believes thou art in the 
 wrong because thou takest so little in 
 terest." 
 
 196
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Knowest thou not we are never to 
 exert political influence? Keep out of 
 the powers of the earth, was Fox s ex 
 hortation. Dost thou think John is so 
 doing? War is forbidden, even if we 
 suffer much. If the elders learn of his 
 seeming willingness to favor bloodshed, 
 he may be exhorted and admonished that 
 he is walking contrary to the standard 
 of his birth-right inheritance, and thou 
 knowest the committee appointed at the 
 monthly meeting might decide to disown 
 him." 
 
 Do not be troubled father. Thou 
 art doing thy duty." 
 
 And Jack was trying, at the same time, 
 to decide what was his duty between his 
 country and his brothers. "What will 
 Arabella say?" he would wonder. 
 
 They were seated around the open fire. 
 The boys were cracking nuts and drink 
 ing cider, and Arabella was the center of 
 attraction, as she mended stockings and 
 set a patch here and there. 
 
 Jack had been unusually quiet, having 
 197
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 concluded that this would be the best 
 time to speak of his determination. 
 
 "Boys and Arabella, I am going to the 
 war." 
 
 "Going to war!" all exclaimed in one 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes, I am." 
 
 Then, while silence fell, the youngest 
 brother exclaimed, "I will be a soldier, 
 too! See if I won t." 
 
 As his information had excited no com 
 ment he added, "And I will be a Gen 
 eral, too." 
 
 "You will?" replied Jack. "And what 
 will you make me?" 
 
 "You can all be dess soldiers, and do 
 the work; and I will ride on a big horse 
 and watch you." 
 
 "Oh! Well said, and what will you 
 do in battle?" asked Spruce. 
 
 "Put you in front, and go back and 
 watch you get hit." 
 
 "You may get it yourself," said Bass. 
 
 "No, I won t, cause I ll hide, so I 
 can come home and tell all bout it." 
 198
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 One by one, the youthful voices spoke 
 their willingness to follow their eldest 
 brother into the army. Some as drum 
 mers, and Maple as fifer. Then, when at 
 last the five boys had arranged their 
 plans, Arabella, no longer able to control 
 her grief, exclaimed, wiping her eyes and 
 rising suddenly, "And me?" 
 
 "You! You!" they shouted. 
 
 "Yes, me." 
 
 "Why, you are a girl! What can 
 you do?" 
 
 "I can bind up the bleeding hearts." 
 
 Then Jack dropped his chin on his 
 breast and said, "Yes, you would know 
 just how; but you can never leave home." 
 
 "Never mind, Oak, thou wilt see. I 
 am going to tell it this very night after 
 supper, when Friend Hezekiah goes to 
 sleep. Yes, I will, Jack." 
 
 "But Martha will not consent." 
 
 "Yes, she will, cause I will just say, 
 Thou teachest me that the Lord would 
 have thee help everybody; and, Martha, 
 do n t that mean me too?" 
 199
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Jack looked amazed. 
 
 "Well, we will see." 
 
 Arabella s work was over for the day. 
 Something had happened. 
 
 "Why do you go so early?" asked the 
 boys. 
 
 "Oh, cause I want to see Martha." 
 
 No amount of persuasion could keep 
 her, so Jack walked over to the farm with 
 her. 
 
 The evening seemed long to the little 
 girl; but at last Hezekiah had finished 
 his supper and was sleeping in his corner. 
 
 "Martha, s posin thou dost sit here 
 in the kitchen. I would like to talk to 
 thee." And drawing a rocking-chair up 
 before the warm fire, Arabella tenderly 
 led the Quakeress to it. "Dear Martha, 
 wilt thou sit down and hold me?" 
 
 "What hast thou on thy little heart?" 
 she said, gently placing the child s head 
 on her shoulder, as she took the seat, and 
 her arm was about her. 
 
 "Thou didst hold me jus like this on 
 the boat, dost thou remember?"
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Yes, wee one." 
 
 "Thou didst take me, cause thou didst 
 think thou ought to then. Didst thou?" 
 
 "Yes, child," she answered, much 
 wondering at her memory. 
 
 "Thou didst not care didst thou, 
 Martha? if I was a Tory or a wig? 
 
 "No, child, thou wert what I wanted." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "First, because thou didst need me." 
 
 "Martha, didst thou think the Lord 
 moved thee to take me?" 
 
 "I saw thou didst need me; then I 
 learned I needed thee." 
 
 "Didst thou feel moved?" 
 
 "Thou art too close in thy questioning, 
 child. I was not only moved to take thee, 
 but my heart longed for thy tender love." 
 
 The little hand was placed on Martha s 
 cheek. 
 
 "Martha, I do love thee best of all." 
 
 The Quakeress kissed her brow and 
 rocked her chair faster, while she brushed 
 a tear from her eye that was not seen by 
 the child. The light was dim.
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 "Martha, dost thou love me? Tell me 
 again. It makes me feel so light, and 
 when I displease thee, I am, oh, so 
 heavy. I cannot carry myself from thy 
 side until thou smilest on me again. 
 Dost thou love me, sayest thou?" 
 
 The Quakeress caught her small form 
 to her heart. 
 
 "Love thee! Oh, yes, more than is 
 good for thee or me! My life is bound 
 up in thee. It is too late now to undo 
 the love-knot that binds thee to me." 
 
 A few minutes passed silently. 
 
 "Martha, thou art a wig." 
 
 "Hush, thou knowest not what thou 
 art saying." 
 
 "Yes, I do, Martha, cause the way I 
 know is jus this John does not love 
 me, and he is a Tory. Daniel, he do n t 
 love me and he is a Tory. Jane, she do n t 
 love me, cause I heard her say so, and 
 she is a Tory. P raps Friend Hezekiah 
 don t love me so very much, cause he 
 wants the Puritans to have me, and he is 
 a Tory. The Oak loves me, and he is a
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 wig; and all the little Aliens are wigs, 
 they love me; and the Oak s father loves 
 me, and he is a wig; George Washington 
 loves me, and he is a wig." And as Mar 
 tha gasped, "George" Arabella s hand 
 was placed over her mouth. "Do thou 
 not speak yet, Martha. And I am a 
 wig, and thou lovest me, so thou art a 
 wig too. Art thou, Martha? Cause, 
 dost thou see? wig means only love. 
 They love their country, Oak says, and 
 their homes. Thou lovest this country 
 now, jus like thou dost me, cause thou 
 didst take it for thy own. Yes, thou 
 didst. And thou wilt not let John take 
 me, and, Martha, thou wilt not let John 
 take thy country." 
 
 "Child, England is my country." 
 "Martha, dost thou not think thou 
 hast adopted America, jus like me, 
 cause thou hast us both for thine? We 
 are thy foundlings." 
 
 To this the Quakeress made no reply, 
 but said, Thou hast not told me how thou 
 knowest George Washington loves thee." 
 203
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 " Cause he was so nice to me." 
 
 "Where, child, hast thou seen Wash 
 ington?" 
 
 With arms clasped about the Quaker 
 ess neck she told her of her visit to him. 
 
 "And he cleaned the egg off my dress, 
 so thou wouldst not feel sorry it was 
 spoiled." 
 
 "Arabella, if my father knew about 
 this he would be greatly displeased." 
 
 "Oh, thou knowest Friend Hezekiah 
 says Thou must be kind to every one. 
 He was kind to Howe. He set the ex 
 ample, so I followed it. Thou hast told 
 me to. And I was kind to George 
 Washington. We must be good to 
 everybody, Friend Hezekiah says." 
 
 "Child, thou art strange to understand. 
 I fear this has all come through Jack." 
 
 "Oak did not know bout George 
 Washington till I told him when I got 
 home. Cornwallis told bout Washing- 
 
 o 
 
 ton, and how he was going to fool him. 
 Thou tellest me not to fool, cause it is 
 not pleasing in the sight of the Lord." 
 
 204
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Child, thou hadst better go to bed." 
 
 "Not yet, cause thou hast more to 
 hear. George Washington is at Valley 
 Forge, and his soldiers are sick ; and, dear 
 Martha, thou wert good to me when I was 
 strange to thee and sick. Thou didst 
 teach me then how it feels to have some 
 one kind. May I take Sorrel and the 
 wagon, and some of thy jellies, and 
 Friend Hezekiah s old clothes, and lots 
 of things, and go to Valley Forge? 
 Please say Yes, cause I want them to 
 know how good thou art, too, and that 
 Quakers are friends." 
 
 "It is time thou wert asleep, wee one. 
 
 "Martha, thou art not displeased with 
 me?" 
 
 "No, child, thou canst keep thy heart 
 light." 
 
 "Oh, please, please let me sleep with 
 thee." 
 
 "Why, Arabella?" 
 
 " Cause, if thou art moved, I want to 
 keep close to thee, so thou wilt be moved 
 my way." 
 
 205
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 "I fear thou hast already opened my 
 eyes to the suffering so near me. Do as 
 thou desirest about the night." 
 
 "Martha! Martha! Now I know 
 thou hast commenced being moved, when 
 thou sayest thine eyes are being opened. 
 When thou art moved, how does it open 
 thine eyes?" 
 
 "There, child, if thou art going to 
 Valley Forge on fourth day, thou must 
 go to rest now. Not another word to 
 night," and kissing the child, she dis 
 missed her. 
 
 The daughter took her seat by the 
 open fire near her father, and began to 
 knit vigorously. At last Hezekiah spoke: 
 "Thou seemest unusually quiet." 
 
 "Yes, father. I have heard so much 
 of the suffering at Valley Forge, it hath 
 somewhat called my duty to humanity 
 into question." 
 
 "Where hast thou heard about it?" 
 
 "Arabella informed me." 
 
 "Umph! The child! Where hath 
 she learned it?" 
 
 206
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "From various sources. Friend John 
 hath so spoken before her that she feels he 
 is wrong, if she is to follow thy teachings 
 to be equally kind to the just and unjust. 
 
 The child hath so far spoken my 
 mind, Martha." 
 
 Then the knitting needles flew faster 
 and faster. 
 
 "Father, she desires me to permit her 
 to take something to Valley Forge for 
 the sick and suffering. Art thou willing 
 she should so relieve humanity?" 
 
 "Do thou not lay any obstacle in the 
 way, if our teaching hath so opened her 
 youthful mind that she is moved to do 
 this thing." 
 
 "It is well decided. I feel convinced." 
 
 The next morning Arabella s delight 
 knew no bounds when she found herself 
 behind the sorrel horse. The light 
 wagon was filled with articles of clothing 
 as well as provisions, and by her side sat 
 Martha. 
 
 "Father," the Quakeress had said, 
 "Who will go with the child?" 
 207
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Thou hadst better accompany her." 
 
 After a long ride they drove into the 
 camp at Valley Forge, where they found 
 no difficulty in being taken to the com 
 mander when their errand was known. 
 
 "Friend George Washington, this is 
 Martha," was the introduction given by 
 Arabella, as she, with her protectress, 
 stood before the General. 
 
 "Little girl, you have done well to 
 come and bring us another friend, for 
 we are in sore need of nurses." And to 
 the young woman the hand of friendship 
 was given. 
 
 All through the long weeks of the 
 winter, the sorrel horse and the child 
 were watched for at Valley Forge. She 
 always brought the young Quakeress, 
 who knew so well how to relieve suffer 
 ing, and who was now happier than at 
 any other time since her arrival in Amer 
 ica. 
 
 "Arabella," she said, "thou hast led 
 the way to much good to me in enlarging 
 my knowledge of Whigs." 
 208
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Jack had left his home during this try 
 ing season, and the little girl found much 
 more to do for the boys; but Martha 
 now helped her, and was her confidant 
 in all things. 
 
 "Thou canst now keep Washington s 
 coat button, cause thou art a wig, Mar 
 tha." 
 
 "Yes, thou mightest trust his entire 
 coat with me, for I find I have been 
 guilty of turning the Tory top-coat at 
 least." 
 
 Spring found Arabella ready to go to 
 Philadelphia to attend a Quaker school. 
 Martha had said "Thou must, child; 
 thou canst come home for the seventh 
 day, but thou must learn something 
 now." 
 
 "Oh, how can I leave thee? I can 
 not do it. Thou must go too." 
 
 At last the Quakeress was persuaded 
 to spend a short time with the child, who 
 was then more reconciled to her new con 
 dition. 
 
 Her mind developed rapidly, and her 
 209
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 loving ways made her the pet of all her 
 companions. But she waited and 
 watched for Martha, when the time ar 
 rived, on which she went back to spend 
 the day at Friend Hezekiah s farm. 
 
 Jack was in Philadelphia during the 
 summer, and when he went to see his 
 little friend, he was not turned away 
 because he wore the American uniform. 
 
 210
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The following winter the Marquis de 
 LaFayette felt called upon to return to 
 France, and to his beloved friend he told 
 his wishes. General Washington wrote 
 to the President of Congress, asking that 
 a leave of absence be granted Major-Gen 
 eral Marquis de LaFayette. On October 
 the sixth, 1778, at Fishkill, the Marquis 
 bade farewell to the Great Commander, 
 and went immediately to Philadelphia, 
 where he opened his business with Con 
 gress by letter, setting forth his reasons 
 for asking permission to leave America. 
 Now that his country was involved in 
 war, he said, he was led by a sense of 
 duty, as well as patriotism, to present 
 himself before his king, and know in what 
 manner he chose to employ his services. 
 He also added: "So long as there was
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 any hopes of an active campaign, I did 
 not think of leaving the field, but now, in 
 a peaceful and undisturbed moment, I 
 take the opportunity of waiting upon 
 Congress." 
 
 In Congress, October the twenty-first, 
 1778, it was resolved "that the Marquis 
 de LaFayette, Major- General in service 
 of the United States, have leave to go to 
 France, and that he return at such a time 
 as shall be most convenient for him." 
 
 Soon after the granting of his furlough, 
 he repaired to Boston and embarked for 
 France, and arrived in Paris on the elev 
 enth of February, 1779, where he was, re 
 ceived by his Majesty with a cordial wel 
 come. 
 
 In a magnificent palace in Paris, the 
 Duke de Gra greeted the Marquis de La 
 Fayette. The old friends, for such they 
 were, had much to talk about that had 
 happened since last they had met. The 
 Duke listened with deep interest to all 
 the General had to relate of his American 
 life, and then the Marquis said, "Duke,
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 tell me of yourself. You have aged, if I 
 may be pardoned the freedom of an old 
 friend in saying so." 
 
 "Yes, LaFayette, time and trouble 
 have placed their hands heavily upon 
 me." 
 
 "You have lost your father, and you 
 now represent your house." 
 
 "Yes, Marquis, and tired is the head 
 that honor rests upon;" and he lay back 
 against his cushioned chair in a weary 
 way. As he did so the mark beneath his 
 chin caught the eye of his visitor, who 
 flushed at the thought, and said to him 
 self, "How is it best to broach the 
 strange facts I have become possessed 
 of?" Then aloud: 
 
 "Duke I wonder that you have never 
 married." 
 
 "How do you know but that I have?" 
 "Oh, I am pleased to hear it." 
 "Mind, LaFayette, I did not say I 
 had." 
 
 "No, I believe you did not." 
 Then, after some moments of silence 
 213
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 on the part of both, the Marquis said: "I 
 should like to give you the history of a 
 peculiar circumstance that occurred one 
 day while we were encamped on Red 
 Clay Creek, near the battlefield of 
 Brandywine, if you will not consider me 
 obtrusive. I saw one there who reminded 
 me of you." 
 
 Calmly the Duke gazed into the speak 
 er s eyes. 
 
 "Who was it? Man or woman?" 
 
 "A child." 
 
 The listener started from his chair. 
 
 "In what way, Marquis?" 
 
 "The scar beneath the chin." 
 
 "Merciful heaven! Is it possible? Tell 
 me every detail." 
 
 LaFayette began with the child s ap 
 pearance before him, and her conference 
 with Washington, and the compact be 
 tween the Marquis de la Roeurie and 
 himself to make known the strange fact. 
 
 "The child s name; did you learn it?" 
 
 "Arabella." 
 
 "There is no further room for doubt. 
 214
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Ask me no questions now. This much I 
 will say only : I owe you the greatest 
 debt a man can owe another. I shall 
 start for America at once. Write out 
 names, places, and everything that will 
 bring me to a speedy meeting with these 
 Quakers when once I land in America. 
 I fear to ask the question that preys upon 
 my thoughts, even at this early moment 
 after your disclosure; but unless my 
 mind is set at rest it will be unbearable 
 before I reach my destination." 
 
 "What is it you would know? You 
 had better allay your anxiety." 
 
 A nervous contraction of the lips, which 
 almost seemed to tremble, again brought 
 the child vividly before the Marquis. 
 
 After a struggle with himself that the 
 man could not conceal, he said: "Had 
 you any means of knowing whether these 
 Quakers are good to the child?" 
 
 LaFayette saw the hand clinch, as it 
 hung at his side. 
 
 "Put your fears to flight. The child, 
 the little Arabella, seemed to worship the 
 215
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Quakeress, and the winter at Valley 
 Forge proved her to be gentle and tender 
 as ever a woman was. 
 
 Grasping his friend by the hand, the 
 Duke said, "To you shall be told, upon 
 my return, a remarkable story, to which, 
 I believe, you have furnished the 
 sequel." 
 
 The Marquis knew, when he took his 
 leave, that the disturbance of his country 
 did not weigh as heavily on the heart of 
 the Duke de Gra, as did some secret sor 
 row. 
 
 216
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Martha had the doors and windows of 
 the farm-house open. Cleaning was just 
 completed and everything was in order, 
 for Arabella would be coming home in a 
 few days for a short vacation. There 
 was the smell of fresh straw under the 
 carpets, and in the breeze, blowing 
 through the house at will, wild flowers, 
 which Maple brought her each day, 
 nodded their heads, and the clean, 
 fresh, white curtains swayed back and 
 forth. 
 
 A rap sounded from the old brass 
 knocker. Martha was startled. It was 
 the first time it had been used since she 
 had lived in the house; for strangers 
 came often to the kitchen, and, if very 
 formal, to the side entrance. At first the 
 Quakeress did not comprehend what it 
 217
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 was, and again came the sharp rap. This 
 time it fell twice upon the stillness. 
 
 "That is at the door of the best room. 
 Wilt thou go?" spoke Hezekiah. 
 
 She left her spinning-wheel and hur 
 riedly went to answer the summons. As 
 the door opened, a man stood with his 
 back to it, looking out over the farm. It 
 was noiselessly thrown back, as it was 
 already ajar to let in the fresh air. He 
 was recalled quickly by Martha s voice. 
 
 "Thou here!" and a deadly pallor 
 spread over her face. The dark stranger 
 gazed in astonishment, as she fairly 
 gasped, "Oh, no, not thou!" 
 
 The visitor stepped in uninvited. They 
 looked excitedly at each other; then the 
 stranger inquired, "Is this Hezekiah the 
 Quaker s farm? Are you Martha, his 
 daughter?" 
 
 At last the Quakeress, in full com 
 mand of herself, said: "Why dost thou 
 ask the idle questions? Thou knowest I 
 recognize in thee the father of the child 
 Arabella. 
 
 218
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Her visitor now was composed and 
 quiet, as he replied, "You seem to have 
 the best of this interview. I have never, 
 to my knowledge, seen you before." 
 
 "Art thou not the man who came 
 across the ocean with us in the Anne 
 and Elizabeth? 
 
 Hezekiah, hearing Martha s voice in 
 agitated tones, came into the room at 
 this point. 
 
 "Father, dost thou know this man?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly, he is the child s 
 father." And he continued: "Thou art 
 rather late thinkest thou not in claim 
 ing thy child, after deserting her as thou 
 didst?" 
 
 "I do not understand either one of 
 you," explained the stranger. "If you 
 will be good enough to inform me of 
 what you consider me guilty, I may be 
 able to answer some of your accusa 
 tions." 
 
 "Father, canst thou believe any one so 
 bold as to deny himself, when we know 
 it is the man who was the child s compan- 
 219
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 ion? Even to the scar under the chin, 
 the features are the same." 
 
 "My good people, I wish you would 
 sit down, and listen to me." 
 
 "Thou seemest more courteous than 
 thou didst on the ship." 
 
 Not heeding his hostess remarks, the 
 stranger went on: "Some years ago my 
 child was taken from me"- 
 
 "Thou dost mean," said Martha, 
 "thou didst leave her on the boat." 
 
 "No, my good people, there is some 
 terrible secret here. / did not leave my 
 child on any boat." 
 
 "Thou didst not? Then we have 
 naught to do with thee, or thou with us. 
 
 "My friends, answer one question: Is 
 Arabella living and well?" 
 
 Father and daughter kept a stoical si 
 lence for a time. 
 
 "Thou must prove thy right to so 
 question," said Hezekiah, at last. "If 
 thou art truthful about not leaving the 
 child, then we have nothing to do with 
 thee." 
 
 220
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "May I see her?" asked the man, ap 
 parently much disturbed. 
 
 This did not escape the young wo 
 man. 
 
 "Thou seemest easily moved now, but 
 thou didst care nothing for her when 
 thou wouldst have struck her." 
 
 "Struck her!" repeated the dark 
 stranger. "Strike my Arry! Oh, no, 
 never. Can I see my child?" 
 
 "Thou canst not now, for the little girl 
 is not here." 
 
 "Not here with you!" he exclaimed, 
 unable to control his feelings. "Where 
 is she?" 
 
 "Away at school." 
 
 The man covered his face with his 
 hands and groaned aloud. "In mercy, 
 friends, take me to her." 
 
 After a few moments meditation, 
 Hezekiah said: "Remain thou here, and 
 Martha will go for the child." 
 
 There seemed no alternative, and, as it 
 was quite early in the day, Martha could 
 reach the city before night. As soon
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 as the sorrel could be brought round, 
 the Quakeress was ready to start on her 
 gloomy errand. The dark stranger 
 stood irresolute before her only a mo 
 ment, then he asked: "Will you do me 
 the favor not to tell my daughter that I 
 am here." 
 
 "She would be hard to persuade to 
 come if I did," was her only reply. 
 
 When the two men were alone, the 
 older one said: "Before thou ever takest 
 the child, thou must give me proof thou 
 wilt not again desert her;" and, as the 
 other attempted to speak, the Quaker 
 silenced him by holding up his hand. 
 
 "Do thou first hear me out. I fear 
 this will cause Arabella great grief to be 
 separated from Martha; and, as for my 
 daughter, I fear thou wilt break her heart, 
 for she is deeply attached to the little 
 girl." 
 
 The stranger pressed his handkerchief 
 to his eyes. 
 
 "I will explain, if possible" 
 
 His host interrupted him. "No, thou
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 hadst better tell it before the child and 
 Martha." 
 
 The time seemed long for the two 
 men, and more so, as Hezekiah, although 
 showing every hospitality to his guest as 
 regarded his comfort, did not seem in 
 clined to talk. 
 
 On the evening of the day following, 
 the sun took its farewell peep from be 
 hind the hills to the west of the Quaker s 
 farm-house, then sank to rest beyond. 
 The cow-bells rang out on the stillness, 
 and the katy-dids chirped their carol, 
 while the toads hopped from side to side 
 in the path of the dark stranger, as, with 
 restless step, he walked up and down the 
 road-way over which they must come. 
 On hearing the sound of wheels approach 
 ing, he entered the house and stood by a 
 window. As Martha threw the reins 
 over the dash-board, Arabella jumped 
 out. 
 
 "Wait thou for me. There is a 
 stranger in the house." 
 
 "Who, Martha. Wilt thou tell me?" 
 223
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "I want thee to tell me, child." 
 
 "Who? No one to take me from thee, 
 is it?" 
 
 The visitor stepped out on the porch. 
 One look, and the child threw herself 
 into her protectress arms. 
 
 "Wilt thou hide me? Oh, dear, Mar 
 tha, do n t let me go; wilt thou?" 
 
 The Quakeress and Hezekiah, who had 
 now joined them, stood mute. 
 
 The Frenchman spoke. "Any, do n t 
 you know me?" 
 
 She did not reply, but kept her head 
 hid in the woman s dress. She had taken 
 her bonnet off before reaching the house, 
 and now her yellow curls clustered about 
 her neck, for they had always been kept 
 the length they were when she first came 
 to America. 
 
 "Any, do n t you remember me?" 
 
 The agony in his voice seemed to 
 touch the child. She gave a side glance 
 at the man. 
 
 "Any, do you know when you last 
 saw me?" 
 
 224
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 In muffled tones came the answer: 
 "Thou wert on the boat, and fell when 
 thou didst want to strike me." 
 
 "Any, I can bear this no longer! 
 Look at me!" and he took the child in 
 his arms. So sudden was the action, she 
 could not resist. "Look at me! Oh, 
 yes, you are my own little Any!" he ex 
 claimed, as he raised her head and 
 glanced under her chin. "Your mam 
 ma s hair! Don t you remember me?" 
 
 "Yes but you took me from mam 
 ma!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "No, you are mistaken, /did not." 
 Now sitting down with the child on his 
 knee, he said: "Tell me everything you 
 can remember about your leaving." 
 
 The Quakers stood back, silent listeners. 
 
 "Are you going to take me from Mar 
 tha?" 
 
 "Not if you do n t want to go, Arry." 
 
 Thus reassured, she looked at him 
 again. He took her face in his hands, 
 and kissed her eyes, her brow, her lips. 
 Then her arms were around his neck. 
 225
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Thou art my truly papa." 
 
 "Yes, your father; who never took 
 you from your mamma." 
 
 Drawing away from him, she said: 
 "Then who was the man just like thee?" 
 
 "I am not sure, Arry. Tell me your 
 story all you can remember. But, first, 
 have you my picture?" 
 
 From beneath the neck of the gray 
 dress, she drew forth a little chain and 
 locket. 
 
 "See, papa." 
 
 He took it and touched a secret spring. 
 Before him was his own likeness set in 
 diamonds. 
 
 "You are indeed mine." And he laid 
 his head on hers, and wept. 
 
 "Papa, thou didst tell me never to 
 open it for any one but thee or mamma; 
 and I never, never have." 
 
 "Arry, have you not opened this for 
 the people who have been so kind to 
 you?" 
 
 "Never, since thou didst give it to me 
 when thou didst take me on thy shoulder 
 226
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 and didst love me. It was my birthday 
 present, dost thou remember?" 
 
 "Child, child, did your mother go with 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, no; you told me on the boat she 
 was dead." 
 
 "Any, who took you away from mam 
 ma?" the man asked in trembling ac 
 cents. 
 
 "Thou, papa, thou didst. Why dost 
 thou ask me?" 
 
 "Where were you? Tell me all." 
 
 "I was in the garden, when thou didst 
 call me, and Mademoiselle was playing 
 hide with me. I went behind the hedge, 
 and thou didst speak to me over the wall, 
 and said, Come, dear. I will hide thec, 
 and I gave thee my hands and thou didst 
 help me up. Then thou didst take me 
 in the road a little way to a carriage, and 
 then to a place where thou didst give me 
 more clothes, not these; and then we 
 went on the boat, and, papa, thou didst 
 tell me I had no mamma. And then 
 thou didst leave me with Martha." 
 227
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Any, it was not I that took you. 
 You were kidnapped." 
 
 "Papa, he looked just like thee. Oh, 
 yes, it was thou, cause I put my hand 
 on thy chin on the boat and said, Thou 
 hast the same as me, and thou didst 
 strike my hand." 
 
 "No; my child, it was not I. Did 
 you show this picture to this other man ? 
 
 "No; thou didst tell me, only when 
 thou didst say so, and thou didst not see 
 it on the ship; and Martha just said, It 
 is a keepsake. Thou art not born ; so if 
 the Friends knew, they would not care 
 about thy trinket, although we are not 
 allowed jewelry. So I did wear it inside 
 my dress." 
 
 Now turning to the surprised specta 
 tors of this peculiar situation, the 
 stranger said: "There has been a dark 
 plot planned by some one to deprive me 
 of wife and child." 
 
 "I do not see how it could be so well 
 done that thine own child could be de 
 ceived," said the Quakeress. 
 228
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "You may well ask the question; and 
 I am forced to tell the true facts, before 
 you and the child will trust me. But 
 wait until morning. The night is no 
 time for Any to hear what she must 
 know. Secrets are bad things. I do 
 not wish for another in my life." 
 
 After a simple tea, Martha took Ara 
 bella, who would not trust herself out of 
 her sight a moment, and retired. 
 
 The Frenchman slept but little, and 
 the dawn of day found him walking in 
 the fields adjoining the farm. His 
 daughter would not leave Martha to 
 take her customary run before break 
 fast. 
 
 So her father did not see her until they 
 were seated at the table, when, to his 
 surprise, she addressed him in French. 
 
 "Any, you have done well not to for 
 get your native language." 
 
 "Martha said I must not, because it 
 was mine, just like she was really, truly 
 a Friend because she has a birth-right in 
 heritance." 
 
 229
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Her father smiled, as he patted her 
 head. 
 
 "I have only one joy in my great sor 
 row at our separation, and that is, you 
 were left with those who have loved 
 you." 
 
 "Martha dost thou mean? Oh, papa, 
 thou canst not tell how much I love her. 
 Thou wilt not take me from her, wilt 
 thou?" 
 
 "No, not until you are ready to go, 
 and help me to find mamma, if we can." 
 
 "Have I a mamma?" And her large, 
 dreamy eyes had a far-away look. 
 
 "Yes, Arry. I believe your mother is 
 living." 
 
 "Papa, I want to see her." Then 
 suddenly, "If Martha will go with me." 
 
 "My child, I wish to tell you and your 
 friend, I shall never take you from her 
 until you are willing to go ; so do not 
 fear." 
 
 When the duties of the morning had 
 been completed, the father of Arabella 
 asked that they would give him a few 
 230
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 moments. Taking his daughter on his 
 knee, he began his story. 
 
 "When quite a young man, and before 
 I had completed my university course, I 
 met Arabella s mother. She was of 
 English parentage, but an orphan. She 
 had been placed in a French convent by 
 her guardian, and it was by the merest 
 chance I made her acquaintance. She 
 was out with a nun one day shopping, 
 when she became separated from the 
 sister by some accident. As she was 
 rudely accosted by some one in the 
 crowded thoroughfare the young lady 
 appealed to me for protection, informing 
 me that she had lost her companion. I 
 was just about to step into my carriage, 
 which I told her was at her service. She 
 declined it, saying she preferred to walk; 
 that if she could once reach a certain 
 cathedral she could find her way. I con 
 stituted myself her guide. This chance 
 meeting ripened into a deep friendship, 
 which later led to our union. I then 
 learned, for the first time, she was an 
 231
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 heiress of great wealth. She had in 
 formed me that her father had been a 
 haberdasher in London. This, I knew, 
 cut her off from recognition by my peo 
 ple, for I was the son of the Due de 
 Gra." 
 
 "A nobleman," thought Martha; but 
 Hezekiah and she gave no sign that they 
 comprehended he was other than a man 
 without rank. 
 
 "Then," continued the stranger, "I 
 purchased a chateau, and my wife and I 
 took possession of it. We lived in seclu 
 sion, as I had, for various reasons, not 
 ventured to tell my father of my mar 
 riage. This was a great mistake; but I 
 made it. For eight years we dwelt in 
 our home without a shadow crossing our 
 path, and the last day I spent there with 
 this child and her mother had, I feared, 
 closed all happiness for me." 
 
 "Thou dost not speak as the father 
 did on the boat," interrupted Martha. 
 
 "I tell you, my friend, I was not on 
 the ship with you." 
 
 232
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "That is where I cannot trust thee, for 
 I must believe my own eyes and those of 
 my father," replied the Quakeress. 
 
 "Listen patiently. The sad part of my 
 story is to come, and it is only for my 
 child it is revealed. I was called to Lon 
 don the day after the one which Arry 
 mentions on which she received the 
 locket. On my return to France I was 
 prevented from going to the chateau by 
 a dispatch from my wife, requesting me 
 to wait for her in Paris. The message 
 was addressed to the Prince de Gra, and 
 signed Arabella. I could not understand 
 it, for I had never told her what my title 
 was. I went by the name of Meras. 
 Well, she did not come, and I returned 
 to our home to find it deserted." 
 
 "Then," asked Friend Hezekiah, 
 "who took the child?" 
 
 "Of that later," replied the stranger. 
 "No one knew anything more than I 
 did. Some of the servants saw her go, 
 but seeing me, as they thought, they sup 
 posed that I was assisting her to hide. A 
 233
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 note was sent by a messenger to my wife, 
 and that night she left her home. She 
 gave no clue as to her destination, and 
 no one at the chateau could tell at what 
 hour she left, or how. And until the 
 Marquis de LaFayette returned to Paris, 
 and told me of the meeting he had with 
 the little child and her resemblance to 
 me, I had no idea of her whereabouts. 
 I immediately arranged to take the first 
 vessel for America; and here I am." 
 
 "But thou hast not told how thou canst 
 account for the man on the boat," said 
 Hezekiah. 
 
 The stranger sat looking at the floor 
 for several minutes. Then, quickly 
 throwing up his head, he said: "Do you 
 see this scar?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the Quaker. "And I 
 saw it on thee when I first noticed thee 
 at breakfast on the vessel." 
 
 "Man, I tell you I was not on the ship 
 with you." 
 
 "Then who was?" asked the old man. 
 
 "My twin brother has the birth-mark." 
 234
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Why dost thou think he would do 
 such a thing?" asked Hezekiah, now 
 thoroughly excited. 
 
 "His probable motive I cannot discuss. 
 He lived in another country, and married 
 to please our father. My brother had a 
 son born to him about the time Arabella 
 was lost. I am satisfied that, in some 
 way, he became possessed of my secret, 
 and stole my child and caused my wife 
 to disappear." 
 
 Martha and Arabella had been aston 
 ished listeners all through this thrilling 
 story; but at last the young woman found 
 voice. "Did thy brother ever return?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "And where didst thou think he was 
 during his absence in this country?" 
 
 "My brother, from his early infancy, 
 was delicate, and, as his health was better 
 out of France, and his tastes led him to 
 travel, he spent little time in one place. 
 He was always jealous of my succeeding 
 to the title, and after his marriage to a 
 woman of rank in a country friendly to 
 235
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 France, this feeling of envy seemed to 
 increase toward me. His revenge has 
 been most cruel. You can realize how 
 thankful I am that this most unnatural 
 brother left my child in such worthy 
 hands." 
 
 Arabella would have been hard to con 
 vince about the twin brothers, had she 
 not in the school she attended in Phila 
 delphia made the acquaintance of twin 
 sisters. They were ever a source of mis 
 taken identity to her, and unless they 
 were seen together she called them one. 
 And the idea of her father having a twin 
 brother frightened her. 
 
 "Papa, then thy brother might take 
 me again, and I would think it thee. " 
 
 "No, you will never mistake us again." 
 
 "Thou hadst better be Friend Heze- 
 kiah s, just like me." 
 
 "If your friend is willing to have me, 
 I will remain for a time." 
 
 "As the child s father thou art wel 
 come to such as we have, if it please thee 
 to accept it," said the Quaker. 
 236
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "You are very kind to offer me, a 
 stranger, such hospitality, and I shall be 
 exceedingly glad to avail myself of the 
 opportunity to be near my daughter," 
 replied the Duke. 
 
 "Oh, then papa, thou wilt be a Friend, 
 too! Friend Raoul thou art now." 
 
 He looked in astonishment at her, then 
 said: "How did you know my name?" 
 
 "Mamma used to call you that." 
 
 "You have a wonderful memory, my 
 child. Yes, I am Raoul." 
 
 "Art thou happy to live here and be a 
 Friend?" 
 
 "My daughter, I am very much grati 
 fied to be in any position that re-unites 
 me to you." 
 
 "Then we are all Quakers now, Friend 
 Hezekiah, cause we love Martha yes, 
 and thee, too." 
 
 And so the Duke was domiciled at the 
 farm. Arabella did not return to school, 
 but her father constituted himself her 
 teacher. Together they walked over the 
 green sward day after day, she giving 
 237
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 vivid pictures of her past life in America, 
 and either in the background or the fore 
 ground of each new view appeared the 
 Oak, until the Duke became curious to 
 see this boy hero, who was fighting in his 
 country s cause. He was exerting every 
 influence to tempt the child to the home 
 beyond the seas, but with no avail. And 
 here she showed her great penetration 
 into character. She seemed to divine 
 Martha s sorrow at seeing her affections 
 transferred to another, and she re 
 doubled, if possible, her attentions to the 
 Quakeress, until the Duke, in despair, 
 felt he should never have the first love of 
 his child, and he did not see how she 
 was ever to be induced to go to France. 
 Jack and Martha were her constant 
 theme, and he discovered the fact that 
 she was happy at Jack s farm talking of 
 him. 
 
 One morning, in their customary walk, 
 they went to see the boys. To Ara 
 bella s delight and surprise she found 
 the Oak had just arrived on a furlough 
 238
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 of a few days. The Duke s astonishment 
 was great when he saw before him, not 
 the small boy he expected, but a man 
 he seemed from his stature. He quickly 
 realized that his little English sparrow 
 had drooped her wings and rested in the 
 strong Oak, whose roots were firmly 
 grounded in American soil. 
 
 "Jack, where didst thou come from?" 
 she asked, the first surprise over. 
 
 "Stony Point." 
 
 "Were you in that engagement?" 
 asked the Frenchman. 
 
 "I had the good fortune of being one 
 of the number selected to capture that 
 stronghold." 
 
 "Were there many with you on the 
 march?" 
 
 "Twelve hundred men were sent 
 through the swamps; but we cared not, 
 for triumph awaited us. Victory makes 
 all hardships a pleasure. The saddest 
 thing which befell us," he added, "was 
 Wayne s fall. And as he recounted that 
 General s noble conduct, his face lighted 
 239
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 up, and then, in a modest way, he in 
 formed Arabella, who was an intent 
 listener, how it was his arms, that had 
 supported Wayne when he was wounded. 
 
 Then, when Arabella thought he was 
 going to change the subject, she said, 
 "Tell more, Oak. Thou art so good; 
 just like Friend George Washington, to 
 try and save this country." 
 
 The Duke lost his interest in war ac 
 counts, but the anxiety to get his child 
 out of America was redoubled. 
 
 The following day Arabella was not 
 around the farm, and her father thought 
 he would walk over to the Aliens , and 
 see if she was there. He found her sit 
 ting on the back porch, and the Duke 
 stood at a little distance, listening to the 
 conversation. 
 
 "Oak, thou art the dearest, best boy 
 in all the war, and I do love thee and 
 Martha. And now thou wilt take all thy 
 brothers with thee, and the house will be, 
 oh, so lonely to me, when I come. Thou 
 hadst better leave Maple with Martha." 
 240
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "No, Birdie, he must go and use his 
 fife. He is needed too. Not an Allen 
 must fail in his duty to his country." 
 
 "I wish I were an Allen. Then thou 
 wouldst take me." 
 
 The Duke gave a little shrug of his 
 shoulders, and walked toward the young 
 people. 
 
 "Any, I want you to come with me." 
 And the child went reluctantly from the 
 farm. 
 
 The father and daughter strolled on for 
 some time without remark, as each was 
 busy with his own thoughts. At last the 
 Duke sat down on a log, and tenderly 
 drew the child to his side. He began 
 the conversation by saying, "I shall soon 
 leave for Paris. Am I going alone?" 
 
 The child moved nervously, as she now 
 sat on the grass at his feet. 
 
 "Papa, thou wilt see. If I go, Martha 
 must ; and if thou takest Martha, Friend 
 Hezekiah must go along too; and then 
 the chore-boy and the sorrel. I expect, 
 papa, thou hadst better just leave me 
 241
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 here, because I might be troublesome on 
 the boat. I was before, and Martha took 
 care of me." 
 
 "My child, will you not go and help 
 me find your mother?" 
 
 "Dost thou suppose I could?" 
 
 "I think so, Any." Then he pictured 
 to her the different life awaiting her in 
 France. 
 
 "Thou canst not see, because thou art 
 not born a Friend, that I love this way 
 to live best, and to be with Martha and the 
 Oak." 
 
 "Do n t you care for me, Arry?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; but then thou canst stay 
 here with me." 
 
 No promises of splendor tempted the 
 child, and he determined to consult the 
 Quakeress that very evening, and he 
 dropped the subject with Arabella for 
 the present. 
 
 "I am going to return to my home," 
 the Duke said to his hostess, as he found 
 her alone at her spinning-wheel. 
 
 "When?" was her only response. 
 242
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Very soon. I should like to take 
 you all with me ; but, as Arry tells me, 
 sorrel and the farm would have to go too, 
 I do not know how it is to be arranged. 
 I begin to think I shall have to make 
 the journey alone." 
 
 "Wouldst thou take the child?" 
 "You and Arry must decide that." 
 The Quakeress pulled the needle out 
 of the stocking she had taken up, drop 
 ping all the stitches. The Duke noted 
 her excitement, and thought best to 
 leave her to her own meditations. 
 
 Nothing more was said about his de 
 parture for a week, when Arabella sitting 
 on her father s knee said: "If thou wilt 
 be happier, Martha says I must go back to 
 Paris with thee; must I?" 
 
 "Not if you would rather remain 
 here." 
 
 "Dost thou want me to go?" 
 "More than I can tell you, my child." 
 "Then I will, cause Martha says thou 
 wilt bring me back, if I want to come. 
 Wilt thou?" 
 
 243
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Yes, I promise you that." 
 
 "Then I will to to make thee happy, 
 cause Martha says I shall be selfish if I 
 do n t." 
 
 The Duke took advantage of this reso 
 lution, and a day was fixed for the depar 
 ture. Arabella was heart-broken at the 
 thought of leaving her Martha, but the 
 Quakeress said, "Thy word is given. 
 Thou must." At last, the Duke, seeing 
 her distress of mind, promised to bring 
 her to visit her friend as soon as the war 
 was over. 
 
 "Oh, what will the Oak say? But I 
 told him perhaps my papa might just 
 take me anyway. And, Martha, the Oak 
 said: Then I will come after thee, when 
 I am a man. Dost thou think he will?" 
 
 "He may, wee one; who can tell?" 
 
 The parting was too sad to be related 
 here, and we leave them in Philadelphia, 
 where the Quakeress had gone to see the 
 child off. 
 
 244
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Upon the Duke s arrival in London he 
 visited the banking-house where he knew 
 his wife could be communicated with. 
 He had made many fruitless attempts to 
 appeal to her feelings through this source; 
 but one reply only awaited him "The 
 order of our client is imperative; not to 
 give any information in regard to her." 
 No explanations would be listened to, 
 and thus he was cut off without being 
 permitted to vindicate himself. 
 
 But now with him was his daughter. 
 He took her to the bank, and there 
 Arabella told the story of her capture and 
 the long residence in America. She 
 begged them to forward a letter to her 
 mother from her. Then she added: "I 
 do want my mamma so much ! Wilt thou 
 tell her I do? My papa brought me from 
 245
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 America to help him to find her, because 
 we love her so." 
 
 "The person you seek, is now some 
 distance from here. It will take time for 
 her to reach you, should she conclude to 
 do so. We have had directions to for 
 ward nothing to her; but this seems 
 necessary, and she shall learn your 
 claim." 
 
 The Duke left the chateau as their ad 
 dress, believing it more likely to touch 
 his wife s heart to know they were there. 
 And to the home of Arabella s infancy 
 the father and daughter returned. Reli 
 able servants had cared for the place, and 
 the home look had been somewhat re 
 tained. Arabella found her dolls and her 
 room just as she had left them. She went 
 from place to place, looking, with a 
 child s curiosity, at every thing she dis 
 covered. Her clothes, now out-grown, 
 afforded her much amusement, and her 
 father, with sad face, watched the inter 
 est manifested by his child. 
 
 In his wife s boudoir the Duke spent 
 246
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 much time. One day, while writing at 
 her desk, he picked up a small pamphlet, 
 lying there just as she had left it, for 
 nothing had been disturbed. The com 
 mand had been imperative, not to change 
 anything. He now turned the leaves of 
 the book. A note fell out, and, as he 
 read, the letter swayed in his hand as if 
 caught by a passing breeze. Beads of 
 perspiration fell from his brow. It was, 
 at last, explained why his wife had 
 not remained in the chateau for a short 
 time, at least, after the child left with 
 her supposed father. He had always 
 been unable to comprehend why she 
 made no effort to learn from him the rea 
 son for his action, and how she seemingly 
 so calmly gave up her little one. But 
 this page before him revealed all. His 
 Bella had been told to leave her home. 
 Bitter accusations and threats informed 
 the wife her child was hers no longer. 
 
 The letter dropped from the man s 
 hand, as he muttered "The villain!" and 
 shook his fist at the absent brother. De- 
 247
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 spair stamped itself upon his counte 
 nance, as he folded the paper, and placed 
 it where he found it. Hope was no longer 
 his. The wife of his heart, he believed, 
 was lost to him as completely as if the 
 tomb of his forefathers was the receptacle 
 of her dust. 
 
 From this time a sadness that was al 
 most melancholy settled over the life 
 and mind of the man, and had its depress 
 ing effects on his daughter. Her father 
 was kind and gentle to her, gratifying 
 every wish she expressed ; but he did not 
 now talk to her of her mother. With 
 these gloomy surroundings Arabella be 
 gan to pine for the farm-house, and Mar 
 tha, and the back porch at the Oak s. 
 The splendor of the chateau had no 
 charm for her. She was old enough now 
 to appreciate many of the peculiar con 
 ditions about her life, but refrained from 
 questioning her father, as every reference 
 to her mother had, of late, seemed to 
 bring on one of .his disconsolate moods. 
 
 For some time this state of affairs ex- 
 248
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 isted, and not one word came from the 
 banking-house to them to encourage the 
 thought of a reconciliation between the 
 husband and wife. 
 
 One morning Arabella was partaking 
 of her breakfast alone. Her father was 
 feeling too ill to rise. A roll was before 
 her, but from its crust only she seemed 
 to take a few crumbs. She was absently 
 gazing from the window near her. The 
 falling leaves, just turning to a golden 
 hue, seemed to rivet her girlish atten 
 tion, when a courier appeared at a turn 
 in the garden path. She gave but a pass 
 ing glance at him, for the long waiting 
 and watching for the message he might 
 deliver had brought only heart-sickness. 
 One letter from Martha had come, that, 
 for a time, made her grieve for her and 
 the old associations, until her eyes were 
 often red from weeping; but that was 
 the only news intended especially for her. 
 
 She now looked up in surprise, as a 
 sealed packet was placed before her. Her 
 nimble fingers broke the seal, more in a 
 249
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 curious than expectant way. It was not 
 from America, she saw. After reading a 
 few words, she sprang from her chair, 
 over-turning it, and thereby astonishing 
 the dignified servant present, who 
 watched her almost frantic flight through 
 the doors and up the stairs to her father s 
 apartment. 
 
 "Papa darling! It has come! Oh, 
 it really, truly has come!"- in her ex 
 citement she was again the "wee one"- 
 " cause I have it." 
 
 The father rose from his pillow and 
 stretched out his hand for the missive. 
 He read it, and said excitedly, "Send 
 Jean to me immediately, and tell your 
 maid to prepare you to start for Paris at 
 once." 
 
 "Oh, papa, thou art not well enough. " 
 
 "My child, the elixir of life has been 
 given me." 
 
 250
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Before a large convent in Paris stood 
 the liveried servants of the Duke de Gra. 
 He had just alighted from the carriage, 
 and assisted his daughter to the pavement. 
 He stepped to the entrance of the large 
 building, and, as he lifted the great brass 
 knocker, a lay sister opened the door. 
 He asked for the Mother Superior, and 
 was shown into a small room, to await her 
 coming. The Duke, with impatient 
 strides, paced the floor of the narrow 
 space, while his daughter looked cau 
 tiously and curiously about her. 
 
 Presently a stately and fine-looking 
 woman appeared. The Duke, with sur 
 prise, approached her. 
 
 "Mother Angeline, is it possible I 
 meet you here again? It was from your 
 care I took my bride!" 
 251
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The calm, peaceful expression of 
 Mother Angeline s face did not change, 
 as she said "Yes, and you have brought 
 Madame Meras child to her, I believe?" 
 
 The man was so confused at this recep 
 tion that he looked to his daughter to re 
 lieve his embarrassment. For a moment 
 he did not see her. She had gone back 
 of the Mother Superior, to examine close 
 ly her headwear as well as her dress. 
 She was gazing at the form before her 
 with astonishment. In the simple home 
 of the Quakers she had never heard of 
 the order of nuns, and now she was walk 
 ing around the figure as she would inspect 
 a statue. Only open-eyed amazement 
 was shown when she found the object of 
 her curiosity could speak. Arabella 
 stared, and forgot to close her lips parted 
 in wonder and excitement. 
 
 Her father spoke her name twice before 
 she answered. 
 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 "This is Mother Angeline, who will see 
 that you are conducted to your mamma." 
 252
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Will you go, too?" 
 
 The father appreciated the fact that 
 the surroundings had disconcerted the 
 child, and he felt that a new difficulty had 
 arisen. He ought to have prepared her 
 for all this, but, as he had not, the best 
 must be made of the situation. 
 
 "Arabella, you go to your mamma 
 first, and I will await you here." 
 
 "Oh, papa, art thou not coming to see 
 mamma?" 
 
 The question was sudden and distress 
 ing; and the Mother Superior, in her 
 cold dignity, simply waited their arrange 
 ment of matters. 
 
 "You had better go." 
 
 "Are you ready?" the sister said, ad 
 dressing the child. 
 
 "Yes. But I would like to take papa; 
 may I?" 
 
 The man grew pale. This woman irri 
 tated him, and he turned to a window, 
 that she might not see the disappoint 
 ment her answer would bring. He felt 
 as if he should burst the iron bars that 
 253
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 kept him from his loved one, and each 
 thought that he was, at last, beneath the 
 same roof with her, and could not see 
 her, almost drove him to frenzy. 
 
 "Arabella, go to your mother without 
 delay. Mother Angeline, if you will not 
 discuss this sad affair with me, tell my wife 
 I am as true to her as on the last evening 
 we were together, when she promised 
 me her trust for life or death. Tell her 
 a demon, not I, wrote the letter I found 
 in her desk, and to question the child for 
 the rest. Go now, Arry, and plead for 
 your unhappy father. 
 
 Woman and child withdrew from the 
 room. Through long halls Arabella fol 
 lowed her companion, and, as she passed 
 a sister here and there, curiosity overcame 
 fear, and she would pause before the nun, 
 while she scrutinized her closely. Some 
 times a smile greeted her, but more often 
 only the expressionless, downcast eyes. 
 
 At last the Mother Superior hesitated 
 before a door slightly ajar. 
 
 "Is my mamma in there?" 
 254
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Scarcely were the words spoken, when 
 she found herself clasped in her mother s 
 arms. 
 
 My child ! Thank heaven ! At last 
 my child is restored to me!" 
 
 Mother and daughter were left alone. 
 Arabella looked, and looked again, at her 
 mother. 
 
 "My child, do you not know me?" 
 
 Tears dimmed the mother s eyes as she 
 asked, "Are you not glad to see me, 
 Any?" 
 
 "Oh, yes mamma dear, with all my 
 heart. But I just supposed it was not 
 you, just like it was not papa who took 
 me away." 
 
 The woman s face hardened. 
 
 "Am I never to have her love again?" 
 she said aloud, although not apparently 
 speaking to the child. 
 
 "Art thou really, truly, my own mam 
 ma, that put this locket around my 
 neck?" 
 
 "Child, if you love me, place that out 
 of my sight." 
 
 255
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Any, look at me closely. Do you 
 not recall my face?" 
 
 "Yes, but dost thou not remember thy 
 yellow hair?" 
 
 The woman placed her hand to her 
 head. 
 
 "My darling, I had forgotten. So 
 long a time has passed since then. Yes, 
 I did have yellow hair like yours when I 
 nestled your head close to mine." 
 
 "Mamma, where is it?" 
 
 "Child, it died with my heart." 
 
 "How dost thou love me then, if thy 
 heart is dead?" 
 
 The mother clasped her to her impul 
 sively, as she exclaimed, "Oh, my 
 daughter, with my soul, the only part 
 of me that seems to have been kept 
 alive, and that by the good nuns." 
 
 "Why, my mamma, did your yellow 
 hair die?" 
 
 "Mourning for you." 
 
 Then Arabella threw her arms around 
 her neck, and, in fancy, she was back in 
 256
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 the farm-house with Martha, as she closed 
 her eyes and placed her face beside her 
 mother s. 
 
 "Now, I know thou art really, really 
 mine, and I am so glad." 
 
 Sobs, at last, brought relief to the wo 
 man, and the child showered kisses on 
 her crown of silver hair. 
 
 Then Arabella said: "Now, may papa 
 come?" 
 
 A cold, defiant stare met her, and she 
 drew back from her mother s arms. 
 
 "Suppose thou art not my real, true 
 mamma, because that is just the way 
 papa s twin acted, so cross to me." 
 
 "I am not cross to you, my darling, 
 and could not be. But do not ask me to 
 see your father." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Do not talk about him. Are you 
 going to live with me now?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, truly I am, and papa too. 
 Oh, he is so tired waiting for thee." 
 
 "Arabella," and now the lips grew 
 hard, "I can not see him. If you will 
 257
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 come and live with me I will leave the 
 convent and take you far away. Do you 
 want to go?" 
 
 "And papa, too?" 
 
 "No; only you and me." 
 
 "Mamma, wouldst thou have me kill 
 papa s heart again, just like I did when 
 I went away?" 
 
 "My child, I can not talk about this 
 now. But he must make some arrange 
 ment for me to have you here, and tell" 
 she hesitated. 
 
 "Tell what, mamma?" 
 
 "Mother Angeline is conferring with 
 your father about you. And now must 
 you go, my daughter? And when will you 
 come again, prepared to remain? How 
 can I part with you?" 
 
 "Mamma, wilt thou not come too?" 
 
 "Child, I cannot." Then tenderly 
 kissing her lips and brow, she said, "I 
 cannot let you go." 
 
 Mamma, I must, because papa is wait 
 ing for me to tell him about thee." 
 
 The woman was deeply moved, as she 
 258
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 called a lay-sister and asked her to con 
 duct her to the outer door. 
 
 When Arabella reached the small room 
 in which her father awaited her, she 
 found the Mother Superior with him, 
 and they were in deep conversation. As 
 the child entered the room, her father 
 bade her be seated, and the woman con 
 tinued to speak in a low voice. 
 
 "After receipt of the note, supposed to 
 be written by you, your wife waited un 
 til the household had retired, and then 
 quietly went out. She walked to the vil 
 lage, and appealed to the fathers con 
 nected with the little church, and they 
 saw that she was conducted in safety to 
 us. Upon her arrival here, she was taken 
 desperately ill with brain fever, and for 
 weeks it was thought she could not live. 
 With returning reason came the poignant 
 sorrow that time has not assuaged. She 
 has never been from us a day, and her 
 life was spent in prayer that she might 
 recover her child." 
 
 "Any shall never be taken from her 
 259
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 mother again," said the Duke, as he 
 struggled for self-control. Then rising, 
 he exclaimed: "Mother, I have given 
 you my story! Do you feel there is any 
 power that ought to keep me from my 
 wife?" 
 
 "No. I do not feel I have it, at least." 
 "Will you lead me to her room?" 
 "That I can not permit. It is some 
 time since the Angelus has ceased. You 
 will find her in the chapel alone. Fol 
 low me." 
 
 May I ask you why I could never see 
 you or get a message delivered to you 
 until now. I have been here many times 
 in the past years." 
 
 "You must remember that your wife 
 believed that it was from you she received 
 the cruel treatment. You had never 
 taken her into your confidence and told 
 her that you had a twin brother." 
 "True, true. I alone am at fault." 
 The Mother Superior opened the door 
 leading to the altar where the woman 
 knelt, awaiting to hear the story from the 
 260
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 nun s lips. The Duke looked in; then 
 turned to the retreating form. 
 
 "I do not see her." 
 
 "She whom you seek kneels at the 
 rail." 
 
 He peered in again, as he replied: 
 "Only a gray-haired person is there." 
 
 "Go forward, and find your wife." 
 Then the Mother Superior passed through 
 the door, and was lost to sight, as the man 
 reverently approached the altar. 
 
 Arabella had not mentioned the change 
 in her mother s hair for some reason, and 
 the man did not believe the figure before 
 him was the one he sought. 
 
 "Bella!" he whispered. 
 
 That voice! The beads dropped from 
 her hand. The kneeling woman rose, 
 and the husband stood face to face with 
 his wife. 
 
 "Bella!" he repeated. 
 
 As her husband came toward her, she 
 
 looked about. A hunted, despairing 
 
 glance was cast upon the man, as she 
 
 raised her hand as if to keep him back. 
 
 261
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 D 
 
 The veins in her temples seemed ready 
 to burst, while her lips grew gray and 
 tightly compressed. Her nostrils dilated, 
 and she grasped the railing before her for 
 support. Her body swayed forward and 
 back. 
 
 Again the man drew nearer, as he said, 
 "My darling!" 
 
 She had now placed both arms upon 
 the rail, and was leaning over it, her 
 back turned to her husband. He went 
 close to her, and tenderly touched her 
 head. She faced the man she loved. 
 
 "Why are you here?" 
 
 "My own Bella, to take you to your 
 home." 
 
 "The one you drove me from?" 
 
 Again he told the story of his brother s 
 treachery. He would have taken her 
 to his heart, but she drew back, as she 
 exclaimed, "The hand that dealt the 
 blow, that robbed me of all that life held 
 dear child, husband, and home oh, 
 I can not bear it!" 
 
 "Bella, you do not believe me. Is this 
 262
 
 "She raised her hand as if to keep him back."
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 the trust you vowed to place in me the 
 last night we spent at the chateau?" 
 
 The form was bowed to earth, and the 
 rigid lips refused to pray. The man 
 leaned over her, and pressed a kiss on her 
 damp brow as her eyes were lifted 
 heaven-ward. The touch seemed to send 
 the life-blood through her veins, for in 
 gentle accents she murmured, "If I could 
 only believe it all." 
 
 "I will prove it. Should I bring my 
 brother before you, and he confess the 
 crime, will you still doubt me?" 
 
 A convulsive shudder passed over the 
 prostrate woman, and from the very agony 
 of her soul she whispered: "The scar! 
 Could your child have been mistaken in 
 that?" 
 
 "My brother has it also." 
 
 She wavered a moment; then said, 
 "Bring the man before me. But leave 
 me now. I can bear no more. No," as 
 he begged that their reunion might take 
 place at once, "only my eyes will sat 
 isfy me that all who saw you could have 
 263
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 been mistaken, even your daughter. 
 Until to-day I doubted that the child I 
 should see would be mine." 
 
 A moment more and the man was upon 
 his knees beside her. He took from 
 the chancel the string of beads she had 
 dropped. First pressing them to his lips, 
 he counted his prayers, after which he 
 placed them in his vest. As he parted 
 from his wife he said: "I will arrange for 
 a meeting between you and my brother 
 at once." 
 
 Arabella was left at the convent ; and 
 the Duke, during his lonely drive to his 
 palace, devised plan after plan by which 
 he could persuade his brother, the Count 
 Eugene, into the presence of his wife, 
 and wring the facts from him. He knew 
 he would go to the world s end before he 
 would make a confession of his guilt, un 
 less forced by law, but the disgrace must 
 be avoided. A way was being opened 
 by a higher power. When he reached 
 the palace, he found a messenger awaiting 
 him with the information that his brother 
 264
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 was ill in Brussels, and that the priest who 
 was with him had sent for the Duke de Gra. 
 The horses that a short time before 
 had stood before the convent sleek and 
 shining, were again, within a few hours, 
 drawn up at its portal. The white foam 
 on the animals showed that they had 
 been driven at their utmost speed. 
 Within the peaceful walls of the building 
 an earnest conversation took place. 
 The message that had come from one of 
 the priests at the bed-side of a dying 
 man could not be disbelieved, and hasty 
 preparations were made for the departure 
 of Bella. The Mother Superior sent a 
 trusted companion with her, and the child 
 traveled in the coach at her mother s side, 
 while the Duke followed. Not once dur 
 ing the journey did husband and wife 
 speak. Indeed, he was unable to even 
 feast his eyes on her face, so closely did 
 she seclude herself from him. The child 
 dined with the lonely man, and from her 
 lips he gathered information of his loved 
 one. 
 
 265
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 o 
 
 At last the goal of their hopes was 
 reached, and without delay the travel- 
 worn man presented himself at the hotel, 
 where the Count Eugene was lying ill. 
 The priest saw the Duke at once, and, 
 after a hasty explanation, he repaired to 
 Madame s apartments. 
 
 The visitor entered the room of death. 
 The nurse, a Sister of Charity, did not 
 look up, and the Duke waited silently a 
 little way from the bed on which lay his 
 brother. He noted the absence of the 
 sick man s wife and son, but asked no 
 questions of the person in charge. 
 
 Presently the door opened, and the 
 priest entered, followed by Bella, leading 
 her child. The priest w r ent to the bed 
 side of the dying man. 
 
 "Eugene." His eyes opened. "Ab 
 solution can soon be given you. Those 
 whom you have wronged are present. 
 Confess, and die in peace." 
 
 The priest asked mother and child 
 to come forward. As the wife saw the 
 face of the sufferer, whose head was 
 266
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 thrown back on the pillow, revealing the 
 scar, she grasped Arabella tightly as she 
 exclaimed, "So exactly alike!" and then 
 covered her face with her hands. In the 
 presence of death she must command 
 herself. The child drew close to her 
 mother, and cautiously glanced from be 
 hind the arm of the startled woman, who 
 had raised it in awe and terror as she 
 riveted her gaze first on the one brother 
 and then on the other. Then she stood 
 before her husband, and, with a soft 
 cadence in her voice, she whispered, "I 
 trust you even unto death." Her head 
 rested on his breast. 
 
 The priest said "Silence!" as the sick 
 man spoke. 
 
 "The hand of God has pressed down 
 the measure with retribution, until it has 
 overflowed. Not one grain more. Re 
 fusal of absolution to a dying man, until 
 he made free and full confession, has 
 brought the balance down on your side. 
 The loss of wife and child, and of the hope 
 of eternal life, has been my punishment 
 267
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 for the sin I committed. It was for 
 those I loved I did it. Jealousy of our 
 father s affection stimulated me to action ; 
 and the fiendish plot was conceived be 
 cause of family pride, and your child 
 stood in the way of mine." 
 
 The dying man became exhausted, and 
 the Sister of Charity administered restor 
 atives. After a time he spoke again. 
 "From your valet, who possessed your 
 secret, I bought it. He offered to show 
 me your wife s letters for a price. I paid 
 it. I stole your daughter, and wrote the 
 letter that sent your wife from her home. 
 I took the child to America, and on the 
 passage over I was about to strike her, 
 not for talking to the Quakeress, but be 
 cause she, too, had my birth-mark, 
 mingled with plebeian blood. I hated 
 her." 
 
 The Duke moved forward. His face 
 flushed crimson, and the mother instinc 
 tively drew the child to her. 
 
 "This is no time for anger. I was 
 punished then. I fell, and broke my 
 268
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 arm, which has been stiff ever since. 
 That night I bribed a sailor to keep me 
 in the hatchway. As we were nearing 
 land, in the dense fog and the excite 
 ment of putting into port I made my 
 escape in a small boat with the man who 
 had managed to keep me concealed. 
 The rest you know. Am I forgiven?" 
 
 A painful quiet fell for an instant. 
 Then Arabella went from her mother to 
 the side of the dying man. The priest 
 moved away. Taking the emaciated 
 hand of her uncle, the child raised it to 
 her lips. 
 
 "Martha did teach me to forgive thee 
 then; so I did, because Martha said we 
 must just forgive before we arc asked, if 
 we would be pleasing to the Lord." 
 
 The dying man whispered Blessed are 
 the pure in heart, " and the priest ad 
 ministered the last rites of the church as 
 he saw the eyes close in death. 
 
 A few minutes later Bella softly mur 
 mured, "Never again can I doubt you." 
 
 269
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 To the castle, the ancestral home of 
 the Gras, the Duke took his Duchess. 
 The long secret marriage was made pub 
 lic, and to the Quakeress the Duke 
 wrote: "I find that you have made our 
 daughter all that parents could desire. 
 She combines the good and the true. 
 The greatest gift you could have be 
 stowed an example of purity and love 
 was given her by you. I find that, even 
 in the new world, she has been well-fitted 
 to fill her high station. Our child is 
 loyal in her devotion to you, and she is 
 already planning to take her mother to 
 visit you." 
 
 To Arabella, the castle, with its stately 
 halls, was a beautiful picture, and she 
 enjoyed its luxury with . the simplicity 
 270
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 with which she had accepted her gray 
 garb at the farm-house. 
 
 The pretty clothes she wore, and her 
 room filled with treasures that only 
 wealth could give her, made her even 
 more angelic, and she would say, "How 
 good God is to give me all these beauti 
 ful things! Martha said, When the Lord 
 doeth much for thee, child, he intends 
 thou shalt do for those less fortunate 
 than thou. 
 
 The father and mother were thankful 
 that their child had been tenderly cared 
 for, but now they would be gratified to 
 have the young girl forget it. After all, 
 these people were Quakers, and no en 
 couragement was given the child to talk 
 of her life in America. 
 
 General LaFayette was her staunch 
 friend; for he, too, had a deep affection 
 for the land beyond the sea, and he fully 
 appreciated the trial that this change 
 must be to the little girl after the freedom 
 of her life with Martha. He always 
 manifested a pleasure in conversing with 
 271
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 her about Washington ; and the intelli 
 gence of one so young often almost 
 startled him. To her parents he ex 
 plained that those stirring times brought 
 into activity the latent powers of old and 
 young. 
 
 While the Duke and Duchess were 
 fully conscious of the deep interest the 
 Marquis had taken in them, it was a 
 source of annoyance when he drew their 
 little daughter to his side, and told the 
 story of her loyalty to Washington. The 
 visit to Red Clay Creek, as it was pic 
 tured to the Duke, with the scout carry 
 ing her across the Brandywine, was alto 
 gether too free for a child of the nobility. 
 Arabella as thoroughly enjoyed recalling 
 the fact of LaFayette s being the one to 
 take her to Washington, as he did telling 
 of a secret in an egg shell. He did not 
 neglect to add, "General Washington 
 never confided to any person his reason 
 for leaving Red Clay Creek that night." 
 
 "Marquis, didst thou know Jack 
 Allen?" 
 
 272
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Indeed I did. He is Colonel Allen, 
 and a brave man." 
 
 "Oh, I mean the son of Colonel Al 
 len. 
 
 "Yes, I have seen him. His father 
 brought him to my quarters once and 
 introduced him to me." 
 
 "I am expecting to hear from the 
 Oak," Arabella said. "Thou dost not 
 know him by that name; I mean Jack. 
 Does it take very long, thinkest thou, for 
 soldiers letters to come?" 
 
 "No longer," the Marquis replied, 
 "than any other." 
 
 "I hope he is not shot. Martha s 
 letters come. Wilt thou find him, if 
 thou canst, when thou returnest to Amer 
 ica?" 
 
 "I will, indeed, child, and I will tell 
 General Washington he is your friend." 
 
 "Wilt thou tell the Oak something for 
 me, Marquis?" 
 
 "Certainly I will, child." 
 
 "Tell him I love him just the same as 
 I did on the farm. I wish thou couldst 
 273
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 take me to America with thee, Marquis;" 
 then, observing the displeasure her re 
 marks caused her parents, she added "if 
 papa and mamma would go, too." 
 
 "How long have you been at home, 
 General?" asked the Duchess. 
 
 "It is about eighteen months since I 
 left America." 
 
 "Then you were here sometime before 
 Arabella?" 
 
 "Yes, and I have watched with deep 
 interest for the Duke s return, to learn 
 whether the information I gave him 
 brought the reward he hoped for in mak 
 ing so long a journey." 
 
 The Marquis left France soon after this 
 visit to his friend, to again take part in 
 the conflict that was still going on in the 
 land of his adoption. 
 
 274
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Early in March, 1782, the Duke de 
 Gra was informed an American wished to 
 have an interview with him. He brought 
 a letter from the Marquis de LaFayette. 
 When the foreigner was ushered into the 
 presence of the Duke, he gave the mili 
 tary salute, then handed the letter to his 
 Grace, who read it, and said, "Lieutenant 
 Allen, a friend of the Marquis, is wel 
 come" ; and, inviting him to be seated, he 
 inquired about LaFayette, and when he 
 expected to return to France. Then he 
 asked about the state of affairs in Amer 
 ica; but there was no welcome to the 
 boy whom he had seen sitting on the back 
 porch of Colonel Allen s house, a few 
 months before, telling his daughter stories 
 of the war. Only General LaFayette s 
 friend was recognized ; and the slight did 
 275
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 not escape Jack, neither did the unspoken 
 word in regard to Martha or Hezekiah. 
 Arabella was not mentioned. At last, 
 summoning up all his courage for the 
 reserve of the Duke called for it he 
 asked, "May I see your daughter?" 
 
 The Duke flushed slightly, but said, 
 "Certainly; she will be pleased to re 
 ceive you." 
 
 A messenger was dispatched for the 
 ladies. As they entered the apartment 
 where the men were, the Duchess was 
 presented. The child, upon seeing Jack, 
 hastened to greet him with outstretched 
 hands. Throwing her arms up on his 
 shoulders, she exclaimed, "Oh, Oak, 
 thou hast come ! Oh, I am so happy ! If 
 thou only couldst have brought Martha. 
 I love her just the same ; and thee, too, 
 Oak. But how thou hast grown." 
 
 This brought a smile to the Duke s 
 face, and Jack replied, "And what has 
 my little friend been doing?" 
 
 "Growing too!" she exclaimed. "Just 
 think, Jack, I am fifteen. Mamma says 
 276
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 quite grown up. Dost thou not think I 
 am?" 
 
 "Yes, you are taller, Birdie;" and the 
 boy looked pathetically into the eyes of 
 his child-friend. 
 
 Taking Jack by the hand she led him 
 to a divan. "Sit beside me, Oak, and 
 tell me all about Martha, and the boys, 
 and Hezekiah, and thy father," she con 
 tinued without waiting for a reply. 
 
 Smiling kindly upon her, he accepted 
 the proffered seat. Perfectly at his ease 
 amidst all the pomp of his surroundings, 
 he gave Martha s message of love; he 
 told her of the boys and Hezekiah ; and 
 then, when he paused, she said: "Seeing 
 thee has taken me back to the east porch 
 at thy house. I feel just as I did when 
 thou didst take my Friend s-bonnet by 
 each side, and didst look into my eyes 
 when I told thee about John. I want 
 thee to tell me now about John." 
 
 "Birdie, aren t you afraid you will 
 brew if I talk to you about Tories and 
 wigs? 
 
 277
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 A soft, gentle laugh fell upon the air. 
 
 "Oh, Oak, dost thou remember all my 
 queer expressions? How I should love 
 to see Martha, and hear her talk of the 
 customs of the Friends. Mamma, Jack 
 always listened to my brewings with such 
 patience." 
 
 "Arabella, Martha bade me ask you 
 when you would visit her, the war being 
 now practically over." 
 
 "Papa and mamma will take me soon, 
 I know. Thou didst promise, didst thou 
 not, papa?" 
 
 "Yes, my child; and when affairs are 
 settled, you shall go and see your friend." 
 
 "And Jack, papa?" 
 
 "Of course, and all his brothers." 
 
 "Tell me more about the boys, Jack, 
 do." 
 
 "They will never forget the little girl, 
 who lightened the gloom of their mother 
 less childhood," he said, addressing him 
 self to the Duke and the Duchess. 
 
 The lieutenant, like Marquis de LaFay- 
 ette, dwelt on the useful, thoughtful life 
 278
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 of the child while in America. The par 
 ents sat deeply interested in the little 
 scene before them, listening, but only 
 occasionally taking part in the conversa 
 tion, for Arabella had so many questions 
 to ask her old playmate. 
 
 Seated beside the young soldier, she 
 tenderly placed her hand in his, as she 
 said, "Oak, tell me how thou earnest to 
 be a lieutenant." 
 
 "I think because General Washington 
 learned I was thy friend," he replied. 
 
 "Now, tell me truly, or thou wilt not 
 be like my Oak I left in America." 
 
 "The General promoted me, I sup 
 pose, because I was always on hand and 
 ready for anything. I went to war to 
 fight." 
 
 "What battle wert thou in last, Oak?" 
 
 "The siege of Yorktown." 
 
 "Tell me about it." 
 
 "Birdie, the Duke de Gra and the 
 Duchess would tire of it." 
 
 Reassured by them, the young girl 
 said, "Thou must, Oak." 
 279
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 Arabella, I can not be graphic enough 
 to do honor to Washington and his great 
 victory on that occasion. It took the 
 ringing bells, the excited multitude at 
 Philadelphia, to portray the feelings of 
 those who waited and listened at home 
 for the few, but glorious words, that at 
 last rang out on that early morning still 
 ness. It was two o clock when every 
 human ear seemed to have caught the 
 words, Cornwallis is taken. Arabella, 
 the old door-keeper of Congress you 
 have seen him ; he who rang the Liberty 
 Bell died on hearing the glad tidings. 
 Others swooned with joy, while prayers 
 of thanksgiving were offered on all sides. 
 These, and many other incidents, are re 
 lated by those who were there." 
 
 "But tell me, Oak, about your being 
 in the battle." 
 
 Jack hesitated; but her eyes sparkled 
 with excitement, as she said, "Please, 
 just try for me." 
 
 "When LaFayette received orders to 
 go to Virginia, he knew that it meant to 
 280
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 get ready for action. The outlook was 
 not encouraging. We were suffering for 
 clothing, and shoeless feet were not the 
 least of our troubles; while among the 
 ranks were many New England men, and 
 they dreaded the climate of Virginia more 
 than they did the battle-field. LaFayette, 
 seeing their necessities, borrowed two 
 thousand pounds sterling on his own 
 credit to purchase supplies for the army." 
 
 "Oh, how good they were to trust 
 him." 
 
 "I think, Birdie, the goodness was on 
 the General s part. His men were given 
 the things they needed, and the women 
 of Baltimore made up the garments for 
 us." 
 
 "I wish Martha could have helped 
 make thy clothes." 
 
 "Arabella," said her father, "I am 
 deeply interested in the account of this 
 victory, and when you constantly inter 
 rupt Lieutenant Allen I lose sight of 
 connected events. Just wait until the 
 narrative of the seige of Yorktown is fin- 
 281
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 ished, and then ask your questions and 
 make your comments." 
 
 Jack would much have preferred the 
 other method, but he now began to relate 
 the historical facts. 
 
 "LaFayette felt troubled lest there 
 should be desertions, and, as soon as he 
 reached the Susquehanna, he gave every 
 man his liberty if he wished it. Not one 
 deserted him. Two hundred miles was a 
 long march, but we accomplished it, and 
 on the twenty-ninth of April, 1781, we 
 reached Richmond, and were joined that 
 night by Steuben with militia. A plan 
 had been laid to capture Arnold, but 
 Cornwallis frustrated it by moving forward 
 from Guilford to Wilmington in Virginia. 
 At Petersburg he was reinforced to the 
 number of eighteen hundred men Phil 
 lips army. Cornwallis put himself in 
 line to march on Richmond to meet La- 
 Fayette, who had only about three thou 
 sand men against this large army of the 
 enemy. Wayne had been expected to 
 join us, but the desperate condition of 
 282
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 the Pennsylvania line, in their failure to 
 get supplies, had detained him. I 
 waited and watched anxiously for their 
 coming, for all four of the boys were with 
 the Pennsylvania troops; and then came 
 the awful feeling whether we should 
 ever see each other again. It seemed 
 almost impossible to believe we could all 
 be spared ; but we were, and not one of 
 us boys carries a scar, but my father has 
 been wounded. We will move on now 
 to Yorktown ; for unless I go by quick 
 stages, I shall be tempted to take you 
 through every swamp and every encoun 
 ter, large and small, on the long march 
 that brought us to where victory awaited 
 us. Cornwallis was on a point of land 
 called Gloucester. It projects into the 
 river, making its width only a mile. 
 Yorktown is a small village situated on a 
 high bank, and a long peninsula separ 
 ates the York from the James river there. 
 No pains had been spared to make secure 
 the ground occupied by Cornwallis. It 
 was well for us that the Chesapeake was 
 283
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 entered by Count de Grasse, with twenty- 
 eight ships, and added to this nearly four 
 thousand men. We managed to guard 
 York river; indeed every way of escape 
 was closed around Cornwallis. Septem 
 ber 2Qth was spent in investigations 
 as to the best points for attack. The 
 approaches were decided upon, and your 
 countrymen begged that Washington 
 who had already reached Virginia, I have 
 neglected to tell you would permit them 
 to commence an attack against the outer 
 posts of the enemy. October 6th 
 eventful night ! trenches were opened 
 not far from Cornwallis ; and only a few 
 days elapsed before the redoubts were 
 ready, and cannon were used to demolish 
 the enemy s defenses. Then began the 
 magnificent display of battle." The 
 young man forgot everything as his vivid 
 imagination pictured the burning British 
 ships, and the French, with their batter 
 ies, and the absolute certainty with which 
 each man moved. "Then the British 
 took possession of some French and 
 284
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 American artillery ; but, as the boys on 
 guard in the trenches advanced, they 
 beat a very hasty retreat. Well, at last, 
 after the many struggles of those anxious 
 days, Cornwallis looked about for a 
 means of escape. A violent storm came 
 up, which increased his difficulties, and he 
 found himself shut in on all sides. On 
 the eighteenth he requested that articles 
 of capitulation be put into form by a 
 commission. To this Washington con 
 sented ; and on the nineteenth the 
 articles were signed, and Cornwallis, with 
 the British army, marched out as prison 
 ers of war." 
 
 Here the Duke inquired who were the 
 commissioners. 
 
 "Colonel Laurens and the Viscount 
 Noailles. " 
 
 "The surrender must have been a re 
 markable sight," continued the Duke. 
 
 "It was indeed, your Grace. Your 
 
 countrymen were, by no means, the 
 
 least of the imposing spectacle, as they 
 
 stood drawn up on the left side of 
 
 285
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 the road, and the Americans on the 
 right." 
 
 "Where was George Washington, 
 Oak?" 
 
 Washington was with his staff, as was 
 Rochambeau, at the head of the army. 
 Then the British walked between the 
 lines." 
 
 "How many were there?" questioned 
 the Duke. 
 
 "About seven thousand, sir." 
 
 "How did they act, Oak?" 
 
 "They were very sullen, Birdie, and 
 grounded arms with so much spirit that 
 they had to be called to order. They 
 moved slowly, as they carried their cased 
 colors before the victorious army looking 
 on at their defeat. The officers were 
 more pronounced in their humiliation. 
 Mortification seemed indelibly stamped 
 on their faces." 
 
 "Where was Cornwallis, to whom I 
 gave special attention?" asked Arabella. 
 
 "He was not to be seen." 
 
 "Perhaps he was hiding under some 
 286
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 bed. Howe seemed to think it a good 
 place, when he looked under mine." 
 
 "Where he was," replied Jack, "I can 
 not tell, but he sent his sword by Gen 
 eral O Hara. The Lutheran church was 
 the scene of prayerful rejoicing after the 
 news reached Philadelphia. Congress 
 soon proclaimed that the thirteenth of 
 December should be observed by prayer 
 and thanksgiving through all the United 
 States. Cornwallis had stated, in the be 
 ginning of the Virginia campaign, in 
 speaking of LaFayette, The boy cannot 
 escape me, but you see he did." 
 
 Oak, dost thou not think December 
 1 3th ought to be observed always?" 
 
 "Yes, Birdie, I do; and you and I will 
 observe it. Do you agree to this?" 
 
 "Yes, Oak; anything for our new 
 country and for thee." 
 
 The Duke rose abruptly, and congratu 
 lated the soldier on the victory; but 
 his words seemed meaningless to the 
 young patriot. There was a lack of cor 
 diality in his manner, and Jack felt it. 
 287
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 He divined the true cause, and, with a 
 brave spirit, he determined not to "case 
 colors" until forced to. He was too 
 much the gentleman to show that he was 
 conscious of the Duke s coldness, neither 
 could he pain Arabella by allowing her to 
 see it. 
 
 "You have never been in America, I 
 believe?" he said, addressing himself to 
 the Duchess. 
 
 "No, Lieutenant, I am looking forward 
 to that pleasure, as we have promised 
 our daughter to take her over." 
 
 The Duke remarked, "I think it is not 
 likely that we shall go for some time." 
 
 "Papa," replied the young girl, "thou 
 hast promised Martha it should be as 
 soon as the war closed." 
 
 "Yes, my child; but America will be 
 in a disturbed condition for some time, 
 and foreigners had better wait until the 
 affairs of the country are fully settled." 
 
 "Duke de Gra, did you ever meet with 
 any inconveniences or ill-treatment in 
 your visit to America?" 
 288
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "No, not particularly so. The effects 
 that naturally follow war are not inviting, 
 however." 
 
 "Papa, I would feel so very, very bad, 
 if I thought Martha would have to be 
 disappointed. She always did just as she 
 promised me; and when John wanted me 
 given to the Puritans, Friend Hezekiah 
 just said, My word is passed to Martha, 
 that she may keep the child ; and it must 
 be so. 
 
 "That is all right; we will go as soon 
 as it seems best." 
 
 Jack rose to depart. 
 
 "How long do you expect to remain 
 in Paris?" asked the Duke of his guest. 
 
 "I came principally to keep my word 
 to Arabella that, if I survived the war, 
 the first thing I did would be to find her. 
 As my mission seems to have been ful 
 filled, and, as I do not wish to intrude 
 myself upon you, I shall leave Paris 
 shortly." 
 
 Before the Duke could reply, his 
 daughter exclaimed: 
 289
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Oh, Oak, don t go so soon, please 
 don t! It makes me feel so sad to have 
 you speak of leaving me. Then ; turning 
 to her father: "Wilt thou not ask Jack to 
 remain at the castle as your guest?" 
 
 The Duke flushed. 
 
 "If Lieutenant Allen will be pleased 
 to remain"- 
 
 "Duke de Gra, I prefer not to annoy 
 you with entertaining strangers in whom 
 you can have no interest. With your 
 permission, I shall be happy to see Ara 
 bella again before I leave." 
 
 Oh, Jack ! And the young girl burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "There, there, dear child," said her 
 father. "Don t act foolishly. Of course 
 the Lieutenant will come and see us be 
 fore he leaves." 
 
 Jack bit his lip to repress the words he 
 wanted to speak. Extending his hand 
 to his youthful friend, and bidding her 
 parents a dignified farewell, he was ush 
 ered out of the castle. 
 
 Arabella hastened to her room ; and an 
 290
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 hour later her mother found her there, 
 weeping violently. 
 
 "My darling child, why these tears?" 
 
 "Mamma, if I had known that in this 
 
 castle I could not love Martha and Oak, 
 
 and have them with me, I don t believe I 
 
 could have come." 
 
 "My child! Not to see me?" 
 "Mamma, I did not know thee. It 
 was like a dream, my life at the chateau. 
 Thou couldst have come to see me; and 
 they would have been so good to thee. 
 The best room would have been thine, 
 and Martha would have said, Wee one, 
 thou must ask about all thy mother s 
 people. And just think of poor Jack. 
 Papa did not seem pleased to have me 
 talk to him. I think- it is only in Amer 
 ica that people are not afraid to be kind 
 to every one." 
 
 My child, your life is greatly changed. 
 Your father is a nobleman. Lieutenant 
 Allen cannot appreciate it, and it will 
 be some time before you will compre 
 hend all it means." 
 
 291
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Is it not something like this that thou 
 dost just hint at : that Jack is beneath me 
 in station?" 
 
 "Well, my darling little girl, that is 
 what your father feels." 
 
 "Mamma, I thought that twin of 
 papa s said something of that sort about 
 the plebeian blood in my veins. Dost 
 thou suppose it is that that makes me love 
 America?" 
 
 The Duchess colored. 
 
 "Never mind, my daughter; do not let 
 us talk of these things. We must do 
 just as your dear father requests, and all 
 will be well." 
 
 "If thou hadst urged papa to bring 
 thee here the first thing, I might never 
 have been lost." 
 
 "Arabella, you owe your father obedi 
 ence first of all." 
 
 "Yes, I know Martha said so when she 
 told me I must go. Now he shall see 
 that the lessons taught me in that far-off 
 land were the best and truest I could 
 have learned. I am so sorry I can 
 292
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 not love my home in this castle as much 
 as I did the fields and the wild flowers, 
 the birds and the lowing of the cattle, 
 the little brook back of Hezekiah s house, 
 and the old well by Jack s porch, that 
 had the iron-bound bucket. Oh! how I 
 should love to have Jack give me a drink 
 of that clear, sparkling water from the 
 tin-cup that hung by the curb." 
 
 The child had risen and pushed back 
 the curls that clustered about her face. 
 She touched her beautiful gown, as she 
 added, "And, mamma, truly I would 
 love to see my gray Quaker dress, and 
 Martha and Jack, just like I used to 
 when I brewed. 
 
 The Duchess listened in silence, deeply 
 impressed with her daughter s earnest 
 ness. 
 
 "Darling, soon papa will take you to 
 see all this again. Only be happy while 
 you wait." 
 
 "How can I, with my kind, good Oak 
 in Paris, and I may not see him again?" 
 
 "Here in your own country things are 
 293
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 so different. You are too young to have 
 company." Drawing a deep sigh, Ara 
 bella went to a window and stood gazing 
 out. Tears fell from her eyes because 
 she could not see Jack, and she said, in a 
 sobbing voice, "I wish I were grown up. " 
 
 That evening her father and mother 
 talked long and earnestly. The Duchess 
 repeated to her husband her conversation 
 with the child, and he listened attentively 
 to the end; then said: "The sooner all 
 ideas of America are banished from her 
 mind the better. She must forget all of 
 these people. I deem it a misfortune 
 that this Jack Allen has come over here. 
 I hope his stay will be short, but I sup 
 pose we must make the best of it." 
 
 Arabella looked and watched in vain 
 for Jack. A week had passed and 
 no word. She began to think he had 
 left without seeing her. The sadness in 
 her face troubled her mother, and the 
 Duke said: "This young man has more 
 pride than I supposed. These Ameri 
 cans are very determined, though, and I 
 294
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 shall feel better satisfied to have him 
 across the water." 
 
 In the meantime, Jack had been look 
 ing about the city, and each day found 
 him walking around the castle; but his 
 cool reception there had made him re 
 solve to enter the house but once 
 before leaving the country, and that to 
 see his young friend and say good-bye. 
 The Duke s treatment of him had been a 
 great surprise. "If I were a nobleman it 
 would be different," he had said, as he 
 left the castle. He had not thought of 
 being refused the opportunity of seeing 
 Arabella, and he was greatly chagrined 
 at their treatment after his long journey. 
 He bore it like a soldier. He was too 
 honorable to make any effort to see her 
 without her parents knowledge. So, not 
 until the day he was to leave for America 
 did he again present himself at the castle. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess were not at 
 
 home when he called, and the companion 
 
 in attendance upon Arabella did not 
 
 speak English, so the child had perfect 
 
 295
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 freedom, as of old, to talk to Jack. 
 Loving messages were sent to the boys, 
 and Colonel Allen was remembered. 
 
 "Oh, Oak, just tell Martha I do love 
 her, and I want to see her so much." 
 
 Then she wrote a little note, saying: 
 "Dear Martha, do thou not go to John, 
 for I will soon return to thee and the 
 Oak. Truly I will, Martha; so do thou 
 and the Oak wait for me." 
 
 She handed the paper on which she 
 had written to him. "Give it to Martha. 
 Do not forget Hezekiah, the dear old 
 man! He was so kind to me. I did not 
 realize it all when I was there." Then 
 going to the little work-basket Madame 
 had, she took from it a pair of scissors. 
 
 "Oak, just take a curl from my head. 
 It is all I can give thee to keep, until I 
 see you in America. " 
 
 It was cut, to her attendant s horror; 
 but she was too late to prevent it. Jack, 
 seeing her displeasure, thought it time to 
 leave. Arabella utterly refused any form 
 of good-bye. 
 
 296
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "No, Oak, just let us be Friends 
 about it. I do not like to treat thee as if 
 thou wert not coming back soon. Mar 
 tha s way was so happy; let us try it." 
 And so Jack went out from the castle 
 without a word of farewell, but the tear 
 drops on her youthful cheeks spoke it all, 
 and the soldier brushed something like 
 mist from his own eyes as he went down 
 the steps. His visit had not been what 
 he had expected, and the disappointment 
 of it followed him to the farm. 
 
 He dreaded to see the Quakeress, yet 
 knew he must ; so he walked slowly across 
 the lots, and, through the window, 
 watched her. In the living-room of the 
 house on Hezekiah s farm, Martha sat 
 spinning. For a moment she paused, 
 and sighed, as a tear fell from her eye. 
 Her father had gone to Daniel s, and, 
 being alone, the Quakeress began speak 
 ing her thoughts aloud. 
 
 "I wish the child might be so moved 
 that she would care to come to me again. 
 It was a great trial to give her up. I 
 297
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 should be pleased to know if she ever 
 thinks of me now. How I love the wee 
 one!" 
 
 Just then a step sounded on the porch, 
 a rap followed, and to Martha s "Come 
 in," Jack Allen appeared. She rose 
 from her chair as she exclaimed, "Didst 
 thou see Arabella?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed. And she sent you this 
 letter;" and he handed her the little note, 
 written so hastily. 
 
 Martha read it, and her eyes again 
 filled with tears, as she said, "She still 
 loves thee and me;" and she gave it 
 to him to read. His face lighted up ; 
 but the next moment a great sadness 
 came into it as he told the Quakeress of 
 the splendor of the child s home; and 
 then he added: "But she loves thy cus 
 toms;" and he repeated how she kept the 
 Quaker manner of speech. 
 
 Jack lingered long, talking of Arabella 
 
 and making known his plans ; how he 
 
 intended to leave the farm and go to the 
 
 city to live. His father, he said, offered 
 
 298
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 to help him get a start in the world. He 
 meant to be a lawyer, and, some time, a 
 statesman, he hoped. He left at a late 
 hour with the Quakeress encouragement 
 ringing in his ears. 
 
 As time passed, Martha was more 
 cheerful ; for she now waited and watched 
 for the beloved child. She had been re 
 assured that she was the same earnest, 
 faithful little friend, and she knew she 
 would surely see her. Jack worked with 
 a will ; but his heart grew faint at times 
 when he remembered how difficult it 
 would be for Arabella to persuade her 
 father to bring her to America. 
 
 299
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 The Duke, the Duchess, and Arabella 
 were at the chateau, and there was now a 
 new member of the family a little sister. 
 She was almost three years old. As we 
 again meet them, the family are sitting 
 in the rose-garden, near the path where 
 the Duchess had watched her husband, 
 as he rode away eleven years before. 
 
 "Raoul, this is the place most dear to 
 me of all. I could spend my life here in 
 perfect content." 
 
 Before the Duke had time to reply, 
 Arabella said: "But thou canst not, 
 mamma, for thou must go to America 
 this year." Then addressing her father, 
 she asked, "When are we going?" 
 
 He would have evaded the question, 
 but his daughter, now a queenly-looking 
 girl of eighteen, said, "I have waited 
 300
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 so patiently, for thee to keep thy prom 
 ise, and now, unless thou dost take me, I 
 must go alone." 
 
 Arabella!" her father spoke her 
 name in decided tones. 
 
 She placed her arm about his neck. 
 
 "Papa, dear, didst thou not promise 
 to take me back?" 
 
 "I expect to do so, some time." 
 
 "The some time has come now." 
 
 "Why now, my child?" 
 
 "Because I must go. I have thy 
 promise. I kept mine, and have waited 
 so long. Thou wouldst not have me 
 think my father would fail to keep his 
 promise to me?" Then her feelings 
 overcame her, and she could not speak; 
 so taking her baby sister by the hand, 
 she led her down the path, and the par 
 ents, left alone, discussed seriously the 
 question when to cross the ocean. It 
 was finally determined the wise thing 
 would be to yield to their daughter s en 
 treaties and sail for America on the next 
 vessel going over. 
 
 301
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 The voyage proved a delightful one to 
 all, and Arabella s spirits seemed to rise 
 each day, as she found herself nearer 
 Hezekiah s. When Philadelphia was 
 reached, she begged her father to take 
 her at once to the farm ; which he did. 
 
 Up the gravel path ran the youthful 
 visitor, snatching a flower as she passed 
 them, on to the kitchen porch, and through 
 the open door into the house, exclaiming. 
 
 "Martha! dear, dear, Martha!" 
 
 The Quakeress threw down her broom. 
 
 "It is thou, my wee one! Thou hast 
 come back to me!" and the two were 
 locked in each other s arms. Tears of 
 joy were mingled, as Martha held that 
 curly head against her cheek. 
 
 "Thou hast grown so. Thou art as tall 
 now as thy Martha. But who brought 
 thee?" 
 
 "Papa is coming. Tell me quick; is 
 the Oak at home?" 
 
 "Yes, he is, just to have a few days 
 with the boys. He lives in the city 
 now." 
 
 302
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Papa, here is Martha." 
 
 The Quakeress greeted the Duke, say 
 ing, "Thou hast been true to thy word." 
 
 Hezekiah hastened in to see whom the 
 carriage from the city had brought, and 
 he said he was pleased to have the child 
 back once more. 
 
 All the time the hostess was preparing 
 dinner Arabella assisted her. She went 
 to the accustomed place, and took the 
 cloth for the table, and the Quakeress 
 said, "Thy high position hast not harmed 
 thee." 
 
 "Martha, tlwu didst bend the twig." 
 
 The Duke finished his simple dinner, 
 and then reminded his daughter they had 
 a long drive before them. 
 
 "Thou wouldst not take the child from 
 me so soon, I hope," Martha said, ad 
 dressing the Duke. 
 
 "She can come over again," he re 
 plied. 
 
 "I have not had time to unpack Mar 
 tha s new bonnet and gown, with the 
 long cape, I brought her; or show her 
 303
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 my picture to hang on the wall in the 
 living-room. Then, too, papa, I must 
 sleep in my bed to-night and just be a 
 Friend once more. Please say I may. 
 Go back, and leave me here with Martha. 
 She took care of me once; she can 
 again." 
 
 The Duke did not reply. 
 
 "I must stay. I shall be sick if I go 
 back; I am sure I shall. Thou canst 
 explain to mamma." At last she pre 
 vailed upon her father to leave her a few 
 days with the Quakeress; and as he drove 
 away, his daughter turned to Martha. 
 Now, I am all thine" then she hesi 
 tated "and the Oak s." 
 
 The Quakeress took her face in her 
 hands, as of old, and kissed the child. 
 
 Arrayed in a gray dress and bonnet, 
 Arabella started for Jack s farm. When 
 she was near enough to see him in the 
 yard, she was tempted to call "Oak!" 
 but she wanted to surprise him. Then 
 he looked across the lot, and saw a Quak 
 eress coming. He thought it was Mar- 
 304
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 tha, and believed she brought him news 
 of Arabella. He started toward her. 
 
 "Oh, Oak!" 
 
 With a few long strides he covered the 
 ground between them, and took the gray 
 bonnet by the sides. 
 
 "My Birdie!" 
 
 Then they sat down on the back porch, 
 and all the boys came out, and Colonel 
 Allen, and Jack gave her a drink from 
 the tin cup to the delight of all. 
 
 "Oak, wilt thou please remember I am 
 just the very same Friend I was when I 
 sat on this porch several years ago and 
 brewed. 
 
 "I remember it. There is no trouble 
 about that." 
 
 They sat and visited, until the fair 
 young girl said, "It is most dark! I 
 must go." 
 
 So they walked to Hezekiah s farm, 
 talking of their childhood days. 
 
 Jack said: "Birdie, could anything 
 tempt you to live in America?" 
 
 "I am going to live in America, Jack."
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 "Who said so, Arabella?" 
 
 "I did; but I am brewing as of old. 
 Just wait and see." 
 
 Martha asked him in when they reached 
 the house, and the two young people 
 spent the evening together Hezekiah 
 in his accustomed corner asleep, and 
 Martha just going round about the 
 rooms, while Jack and Arabella built cas 
 tles in American air. 
 
 The following day the Duchess drove 
 over with the Duke and the little sister. 
 
 There was not that unison of thought, 
 the Quakeress said in speaking of the 
 visit, that she could have hoped for with 
 the child s mother; and, in fact, a cool 
 ness had penetrated the heart of the 
 Duchess toward the Quakeress, who she 
 felt had captured her daughter s warmest 
 affection. The words of appreciation she 
 spoke to Martha seemed cold and formal, 
 and she clothed herself with dignity as 
 with an armor. 
 
 All this tried Arabella sorely; and, 
 when to the kind and hospitable invita- 
 306
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 tion to remain, her mother made some 
 excuse to return to Philadelphia, her 
 daughter felt a wrong had been done her 
 dear friends. She could not understand 
 the mother who was not willing that she 
 might share her love with one who had 
 been so much to her. 
 
 The time had come for the Duke and 
 his family to leave for France, and he 
 was making preparations for it. Arabel 
 la s lips were firmly closed, and she only 
 spoke when obliged to. Her eyes had 
 a far-away look. She had something 
 to say, she announced a few days before 
 the family were to sail. 
 
 "My dear parents, I cannot go back 
 to France with you." 
 
 "Not go back ?" repeated her father 
 and mother in one breath." 
 
 "No, I cannot." 
 
 "Do you, then," asked her mother, 
 "love this Martha better than me?" 
 
 "Mamma, thou hast my little sister and 
 papa. Truly I am so homesick in 
 France, I cannot live there." 
 307
 
 A Daughter of Two Nations 
 
 To all remonstrances Arabella turned 
 a deaf ear. 
 
 "I cannot go papa. I am perfectly 
 willing to forego everything that wealth 
 can give. I love America. I have 
 loved it ever since I took the eggs and 
 went to General Washington to help save 
 it. Do not feel badly, because thou 
 canst come and see me, but I must 
 stay." 
 
 "Why?" asked the Duke. 
 
 "I want Martha." 
 
 "Is that all my child?" 
 
 "Not quite." 
 
 "Is it Hezekiah?" asked her father. 
 
 Arabella smiled. 
 
 "No, papa, not Hezekiah, although he 
 is very kind to me." 
 
 "Is it only Martha?" 
 
 "And the Oak," replied the daughter. 
 
 "I will take Jack to France," said the 
 Duke. 
 
 "No, papa, he wants America, that he 
 fought for, and me too" 
 THE END. 
 
 308
 
 DC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIL 
 
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