CHAPTER IX
PEACE
"Only the cane now, Andy. The days of crutches are over!"
"Yes, Ruth, the country, the dear free country and I can nearly go alone now." Andy stood up proudly and beamed upon the pretty girl standing by his mother.
"I declare!" he laughed, "you look but little older than Ruth, mother!"
"Box his ears well, lass," said Janie, mightily pleased. "He struts, does Andy, and you and I must take him down."
"Come," Andy broke in, "we must start now. Wrap up well, girls," he laughed again, "'tis bitter cold, and the way is long."
"No cold can reach me!" cried Janie, pulling her hood well over her happy face. "Warm hearts make glowing bodies. To think, lad, he will be with us to-night!"
The door of the little house was drawn to and locked. All within was beautiful and ready for the patriot who that night would return full of honors for the part he had played during the last two years.
"Yes. He will be with us, mother," echoed Andy. He looked at Ruth. He had learned to understand his mother now, and Ruth had shown him the way.
"It was no light matter," said the girl, keeping step with Andy over the crisp snow, "for you—your father to be a patriot. He was not only a patriot but a deserter from the king's army. In every battle he had to face that."
"Yes," broke in Janie, "and when he went with Wayne to storm Stony Point, he was nearly captured, as you will remember. And the British yelled at him, 'Don't shoot that deserter, lead's too good for him. We'll try an Indian trick on him!'"
Andy's face grew grave. "He's a brave man," he whispered, and drew Janie's arm within his own. And so the little party came to Fraunce's Tavern, and bided near the room in which Washington and his officers were dining before the General departed for Annapolis, where he was to lay down his commission, for the war was over, and peace had come to the young country.
"Andy," said Janie, closing the door of the small room which had been reserved for them, "'twas great luck that my host's wife and I are friends. Think of us having this to ourselves, and the great General right in the next room. Ruth, lass, there is a communicating door, as true as I live! Andy, draw away the sofa."
"Mother, you would not be an eavesdropper?"
"God forbid! Ruthie, is there a keyhole?"
"No keyhole, but a good generous crack in the panel! Hurry, Andy, with the sofa, the thing weighs a ton. Push!"
"Ruth! We cannot spy upon the General." Andy tried to look severe.
"I can!" laughed the girl, mounting the sofa, and applying her eye to the crack. "I'm afraid the Revolution has demoralized me, but I must see the thing through. Andy, they look—they look magnificent!" Ruth was quivering on her perch. Janie flung prudence and dignity to the winds, and climbed to Ruth's side, and, being taller, gained a portion of the crack above the girl's head.
"I can see no one but the General!" she said. "The crack is over-narrow for such doings!"
"There is no one but Washington!" breathed Andy, and he lifted his head proudly.
"Yes, there are others," whispered Ruth, misunderstanding, "and if you run your eye up and down the crack quickly, you can catch a sight of them. The crack is wider in some parts."
"Heaven save us, lass!" (Ruth's head had come in violent contact with Janie's chin). "You have loosened my teeth!"
"They are going to drink a toast!" said Ruth, not heeding the accident, but thrilling with excitement. "Andy, 'tis no wrong we are doing. The General's voice can be heard distinctly, and I vow there are a dozen heads at every window opening on the porch. The crack is fine down here. I can see everything!"
Andy stood still.
"He is raising his glass!" said Ruth near the floor.
"With my heart full of love and gratitude I now take leave of you all. Most devoutly wishing that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and honorable."
"His eyes are full of tears!" almost sobbed Ruth, and the eyes of them in the little room were dim. Glasses clinked together, then the full voice went on:
"I cannot come to each one of you and take my leave, but I shall be obliged if you will come and take my hand." They needed no second bidding those comrades, tried and true. One by one, feeling no shame in their manly show of sorrow, they grasped their General's faithful hand and parted from him with bowed heads.
"They are going out!" panted Janie. "Now, Andy, for the hall. We must meet him at the door."