Aunt Deborah did not linger to talk with her little niece, for it was a part of her belief that idle talk was unwise. The door had hardly closed behind her when Winifred’s head appeared from under the chintz valance of the bed, and she looked cautiously about.

“Has she gone?” she asked in a cautious whisper.

Ruth nodded, and Winifred now crawled out from her hiding-place.

“I’m glad she didn’t see me, Ruth. For when I came to the door this morning she said you could not see any one to-day; so I thought you were being punished, and I was bound to see you. Oh, Ruth! are you to have nothing but porridge?” and Winifred looked at Ruth’s tray as if she thought such a dinner would be punishment enough for a much greater offense.

“I chose it! I said I would eat only porridge,” responded Ruth, beginning to think that perhaps she had been more severe with herself than had been really necessary; and she wondered, with a little regretful sigh, if Aunt Deborah was having stewed oysters for dinner; for Ruth was sure that nothing could taste better than oysters.

“I had to see you, Ruth; and it was Gilbert who thought of the ladder. He has written a play, and you are to take part in it, and so am I,” continued Winifred, who had nearly forgotten her own important news in listening to Ruth’s surprising story.

“’A play’?” echoed Ruth questioningly, hardly understanding her friend’s meaning.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t you know that the English soldiers give plays in the Southward Theater? They dress up and make believe, just as you did last night,” Winifred explained, “and Gilbert’s play is like that.”

“Then I don’t want to,” Ruth declared. “It’s horrid pretending to be somebody besides yourself.”

“Oh, Ruth! This isn’t like what you did. It’s all about Washington and Lafayette,” Winifred explained eagerly, “and our pony is to be in it, and so is Hero. It’s splendid; truly it is, Ruth; and Gilbert wants you to come and rehearse this afternoon, in our stable. If you are punishing yourself you can come if you wish to.”

Ruth shook her head.

“No, I can’t. Don’t you see I can’t, Winifred? I promised just as much as if somebody else had made me. I’ll have to stay in this room all day, because I told Aunt Deborah that I would.”

Winifred jumped up quickly. “Then I must go right home, for Gilbert said that if you couldn’t take part we’d try and get Betty Hastings. She’s older and taller than you, anyway, so she’d look more like Lafayette,” she said, moving toward the door.

Betty Hastings lived just around the corner on Chestnut Street. She was twelve years old. She was tall for her age, and her hair was brown and very curly. She did not often play with the younger girls.

“Lafayette? Was I to be Lafayette in the play?” asked Ruth. “Oh, Winifred! Ask Gilbert to wait. I’ll come over first thing to-morrow morning. You tell him I have to stay up here to-day. Don’t ask Betty!” she pleaded, and Winifred finally agreed to try and persuade her brother to wait until the following morning before asking Betty.

“You see, it’s to be a birthday surprise for Mother; and her birthday is a week from to-day, so there isn’t much time,” Winifred explained, as she started toward the door.

“Winifred! Where are you going?” Ruth whispered in alarm; and Winifred laughed at her friend’s surprise to see her about to walk boldly from the room.

“I can go down-stairs so your aunt won’t know it, and open the front door just as easy, and walk right out. She is in the kitchen and won’t hear me,” Winifred answered; and with a warning word to be sure and be at the stable at nine o’clock the next morning, the little girl opened the door cautiously and disappeared.

After Winifred had gone Ruth ate her porridge. She began to think of Gilbert’s play, and of the fun it would be to take the part of the brave young Frenchman. She walked about the room, looked at Cecilia and the half-finished chair, and sighed deeply at the thought that she might be rehearsing with Winifred and Gilbert, the pony and Hero, instead of staying alone in her room.

At last she remembered her knitting, and took it up rather reluctantly. “I do wish I hadn’t worn Mother’s dress,” she thought. And she was conscious of a little uncomfortable feeling as to Winifred’s visit after Aunt Deborah’s refusal to admit her.

“But I didn’t ask her to come, or help her,” she finally decided; although she began to wish that her friend had waited to tell her the great news until the next day and so avoided deceiving Aunt Deborah.

But at last the long afternoon ended; and when the clock struck six there was a joyous bark just outside Ruth’s door, and Aunt Deborah opened it for Hero to come bounding in. He had so much to tell his little mistress, with barks and jumps, and faithful pleading eyes, that it was some little time before Aunt Deborah found a chance to speak.

“Thee had best come down to the dining-room and have supper with me. There are creamed oysters and toast and a bit of jelly. I think thee does not need porridge for another meal to-day,” she said smilingly.

“I know I’ll remember about Mother’s dress. It has been hard to stay up here all day,” Ruth answered, glad indeed that her time of punishment was over.

“But Aunt Deborah doesn’t know just how hard it was,” she thought as she followed her aunt down the stairs, with Hero close beside her, thinking over Winifred’s great news.

As she took her usual place at the table she was glad that she had not taken Winifred’s suggestion to shorten her hours of solitude. The steaming oysters sent out an appetizing odor, the toast was crisp and golden, and the tumbler of amber-colored jelly seemed to reflect the light of the candles in their tall brass candlesticks which stood at each end of the table.

“I have good news for thee, Ruth,” said Aunt Deborah, smiling at her across the table. “I have word that thy mother will return early the coming week.”

Ruth gave an exclamation of delight.

“Oh, Aunt Deborah! What a lot of nice things happen all together,” she said. “You won’t go back to Barren Hill when she comes, will you?” For Ruth began to realize that, even with her dear mother safe at home once more, she would miss the kind aunt who had been so unfailingly patient.

It was evident that Aunt Deborah was greatly pleased. Her brown eyes shone, and Ruth suddenly discovered the amazing fact that there was a dimple in Aunt Deborah’s right cheek.

“’Tis indeed pleasant that thou should wish me to stay; but I fear my house at Barren Hill needs its mistress. To-morrow is the first of April, and I must see about planting my garden as soon as possible. Perhaps thy mother will let thee come for a visit before long,” she responded. “That is, if the English General will take such a great risk as to give a small maid permission to leave the city,” for no one could leave Philadelphia at that time without a written permission from an English officer.

Ruth was quite sure that she should like to visit Barren Hill. She knew it was half-way to Valley Forge, where the American soldiers had passed a dreary winter, suffering from cold and hunger, while their enemies had enjoyed the comforts of American homes in Philadelphia. But now that spring had come the American people were more hopeful; they were sure their army would soon drive the enemy from the city.

The people of little settlements like Barren Hill managed to carry food and clothing to the American soldiers. Aunt Deborah, just before coming to Philadelphia, had carried a treasured store of honey to Washington’s headquarters, as well as clothing and food for Ruth’s father.

Although Aunt Deborah was a Quaker she was sure of the righteousness of America’s war against oppression.

“Perhaps I could see my father if I go to visit you, Aunt Deborah,” said Ruth hopefully.

But Aunt Deborah could give no assurance as to this. She knew that any day might see Washington’s army moving from its winter quarters.

“Thee could help me with the garden,” she responded. “The bees will soon be about their work now; and there are many things in the country for a small maid to find pleasure in.”

“Did you ever see Lafayette, Aunt Deborah?” Ruth asked.

“Why, child! Did not thy mother tell thee? He stopped at my door one day. He was on horseback, and only two soldiers with him. They had ridden out from camp to make sure no English spies were about, and he stopped to ask for a cup of water. He was pleased to take milk instead. Thee shall see the very cup from which he drank, Ruth. It was one of the pink luster cups, and I put it apart from the others. Some day thee shall have it for thy own,” said Aunt Deborah, smiling at Ruth’s evident delight.

As Ruth listened she resolved that nothing should prevent her from visiting Aunt Deborah. Perhaps she might see Lafayette as well as her dear father. Perhaps the young Frenchman might again call at Aunt Deborah’s door, and she, Ruth Pernell, hand him the pink luster cup filled with milk.

Aunt Deborah’s voice interrupted these pleasant day-dreams.

“Now, Ruth, thee may help me wash the dishes; and we will make sure that Hero is safely indoors,” she said.

“Yes, indeed. Oh! Aunt Deborah, this has been a splendid day, after all,” the little girl responded, thinking of Hero safe at home, of Winifred’s visit, and of the pink luster cup that some day would be her own.