PATTY RUTTER: THE QUAKER DOLL WHO SLEPT IN INDEPENDENCE HALL.
Patty Rutter had fallen asleep with her bonnet on, and had been lyingthere, fast asleep, nobody knew just how long; for, somehow--ithappened so--there was nobody in particular to awaken her; that is tosay, no one had seemed to care though she slept on all day and allnight, without ever waking up at all.
But then, there never had been another life quite like Patty Rutter'slife. In the first place, it had a curious reason for beginning atall; and nearly everything about it had been as unlike your life andmine as possible.
In her very baby days, before she walked or talked, she had been sentaway to live with strangers, and no real, warm kiss of true love hadever fallen on her little lips.
It all came about in this way: Mrs. Sarah Rutter, a lady living inPhiladelphia--exactly what relation she bore to Patty it is a littledifficult to determine--decided to send the little one to live with acertain Mrs. Adams, at Quincy, in Massachusetts, and she particularlydesired that the child should go dressed in a style fitting aninhabitant of the proud city of Philadelphia.
Now, at that time Philadelphia was very much elated because of severalthings that had happened to her; but the biggest pride of all was,that once upon a time the Continental Congress had met there, and--andmost wonderful thing--had made a Nation!
Well, to be sure, that _was_ something to be proud of; though Pattydidn't understand, a bit more than you do, what it meant. However, theglory of it all was talked about so much that she couldn't helpknowing that, when this nation, with its fifty-six Fathers, andthirteen Mothers, was born one day in July, 1776, at Philadelphia, allthe city rang with a sweet jangle, and called to all the people,through the tongue of its Liberty bell, to come up and greet thenewcomer with a great shout of welcome.
But that had been long ago, before Mrs. Sarah Rutter was grown up, orPatty Rutter began to be dressed for her trip to Quincy.
As I wrote, Mrs. Rutter wished that Patty should go attired in amanner to do honor to the city of Philadelphia; therefore she was notpermitted to depart in her baby clothes, but her little figure wasarrayed in a long, prim gown of soft drab silk, while a kerchief ofpurest mull was crossed upon her breast; and, depending from herwaist, like the fashion of to-day, were pincushion and watch. Upon heryouthful head was a bonnet, crowned and trimmed in true Quakerfashion; and her infantile feet were securely tied within shapelyslippers of kid. Thus equipped, Miss Patty was sent forth upon herjourney.
Ah! that journey began a long time ago--fifty-eight, yes, fifty-nineyears have gone by, and Patty Rutter is quite an aged little lady now,as she lies asleep, with her bonnet on.
"It is time," says somebody, "to close."
No one seems to take notice that Patty Rutter does not get up anddepart with the rest of the visitors, that she only stirs her eyelidsand turns her head on the silken "quilt" where she is lying.
The little woman who keeps house in the Hall locks it up and goesaway, and there is little Patty Rutter shut in for the night. As thekey turns in the old-time lock, the Lady Rutter winks hard and sitsup.
"Well, I've been patient, anyhow, and Mrs. Samuel Adams herselfcouldn't wish me to do more," she said, with a comforting yawnand a delightful stretch, and then she began to stare in blankbewilderment.
"I _should_ like to know what this all means," she whispered, "and_where_ I am. I've heard enough to-day to turn my head. How very queerfolks are, and they talk such jargon now-a-days. Centennial andCorliss Engine; Woman's Pavilion and Memorial Hall; Main Building andthe Trois Freres; Hydraulic Annex, railroads and what-nots.
"_I_ never heard of such things. I don't think it is proper to speakof them, or the Adamses would have told me. No more intelligent folksin the land than the Adamses, and I guess _they_ know what belongs togood society and polite conversation. I declare I blushed so in mysleep that I was quite ashamed. I'll get up and look about now. I'msure this isn't any one of the houses where we visit, or folkswouldn't talk so."
Patty Rutter straightened her bonnet on her head, smoothed down herrobe of silken drab, adjusted her kerchief, looked at her watch tolearn how long she had been sleeping, and found, to her surprise, thatit had run down. Right over her head hung two watches.
"Why, how thoughtful folks are in this house," she exclaimed in atimid voice, reaching up and taking one of the two time-pieces in herhand. "Why, here's a name; let me see."
Reading slowly, she announced that the watch belonged to "Wil-liamWil-liams--worn when he signed the Declaration of Independence." "Ah!"she cried, with pathetic tone, "this watch is run down _too_, at fourminutes after five. I remember! _This_ William Williams was one of thefifty-six Fathers. I guess I must be in Lebanon--he lived there andhis folks would have his watch of course. Here's another," taking downa watch and reading, "Colonel John Trumbull. _Run down, too!_ and attwenty-three minutes after six. _He_ was the son of Brother Jonathan,Governor of one of the Mothers, when the Nation was born. Yes, yes, Imust be in Lebanon. Well, it's a comfort, at least, to know that I'min company the Adamses would approve of, though _how_ I came here is amystery."
She hung the watches in place, stepped out of the glass room, in whichshe had slept, into a hall, and with a slight exclamation of deliciousapproval, stopped short before a number of chairs, and clasped herlittle fingers tightly together.
You must remember that Patty Rutter was a Friend, a Quaker, perhaps adescendant of William Penn, but then, in her baby days, having beentransplanted to the rugged soil and outspoken ways of Massachusetts,she could not keep silence altogether, in view of that which greetedher vision.
She was in the very midst of old friends. Chairs in which she had satin her young days stood about the grand hall. On the walls hungportraits of the ancestor kings of the nation born at Philadelphia in1776.
In royal robes and with careless grace, lounged King George III., thenation's grandfather, angry no longer at his thirteen daughters whostrayed from home with the Sons of Liberty.
Her feet made haste and her eyes opened wider, as her swift handsseized relic after relic. She sat in chairs that Washington had restedin; she caught up camp-kettles used on every field where warriors ofthe Revolution had tarried; she patted softly La Fayette's campbedstead; and wondered at the taste that had put into the hall twoold, time-worn, battered doors, but soon found out that they had gonethrough all the storm of balls that fell upon the Chew House duringthe battle of Germantown.
She read the wonderful prayer that once was prayed in Carpenter'sHall, and about which every member of Congress wrote home to hiswife.
On a small "stand," encased in glass, she came upon a portrait ofWashington, painted during the time he waited for powder at Cambridge.Patty Rutter had seen it often, with its halo of the General's ownhair about it. She turned from it, and beheld (why, yes, surely she_had_ seen _that_, but not here; it was, why long ago, in her babydays in Philadelphia, that Mrs. Rutter had taken her up into a towerto see it), a bell--Liberty Bell, that rang above the heads of theFathers when the Nation was born.
Poor little Patty began to cry. Where could she be? She reached outher hand, and climbed the huge beams that encased the bell, and triedto touch the tongue. She wanted to hear it ring again, but could notreach it.
"It's curious, curious," she sobbed, wiping her eyes and turning themwith a thrill of delight upon a beloved name that greeted her vision.It was growing dark, and she _might_ be wrong. But no, it was thedear name of Adams; and she saw, in a basket, a little pile of babyraiment. There were dainty caps and tiny shirts of cambric, whoselinen was like a gossamer web, and whose delicate lines of hem-stitchwere scarcely discernible; there were small dresses, yellow with thesun color that time had poured over them, and they hung with patheticcrease and tender fold over the sides of the basket.
The little woman paused and peered to read these words, "Baby-clothes,made by Mrs. John Adams for her son, John Quincy Adams."
"Little John Quincy!" she cried, "A baby so long ago!" She took thelittle c
aps in her hands, she pulled out the crumpled lace that edgedthem. She said, through the swift-falling tears:
"Oh, I remember when he was brought home _dead_, and how, in theIndependence Hall of the State House at Philadelphia, he lay in state,that the inhabitants who knew his deeds, and those of his father,John, and his uncle, Samuel, might see his face. I love the Adamsesevery one," and she softly pressed the baby-caps that had been wroughtby a mother, ere the country began, to her small Quaker lips, withreal New England fervor for its very own. Tenderly she laid them down,to see, while the light was fading, a huge picture on the wall. Shestudied it long, trying to discern the faces, with their savagebeauty; the sturdy right-doing men who stood before them; and thenher eyes began to glisten, and gather light from the picture; her lipsparted, her breath quickened; for Patty Rutter had gone beyond herlife associations in Massachusetts, back to the times in which herQuaker ancestors had make treaty with the native Indians.
"It is!" she cried with a shout; "It is Penn's treaty!" Patty gazed atit until she could see no longer. "I'm glad it is the last thing myeyes will remember," she said sorrowfully, when in the gloom sheturned away, went down the hall, and entered her glass chamber.
"Never mind my watch," she said softly. "When I waken it will bedaylight, and I need not wind it. It will be so sweet to lie herethrough the night in such grand and goodly company. I only wish Mrs.Samuel Adams could come and kiss me good night."
With these words, Patty Rutter laid herself to rest upon the silkenquilt from Gardiner's Island; and if you look within the Relic Room,opposite to Independence Hall, in the old State House at Philadelphia,in this Centennial summer, you will find her there, still taking herlong nap, _fully indorsed by Miss Adams_, and in Independence Hall,across the passage way, you will see the portraits of more than fiftyof the Fathers of the nation, but the Mothers abide at home.
The Only Woman in the Town, and Other Tales of the American Revolution Page 9
