m France and the islands, and were taxing heavily the hospitality and
the charity of the city. A barrow-man came on behind, with the baggage
for their immediate needs, now and then crying, "Barrow! Barrow!" when
his way was impeded.

De Courval, at first annoyed that his mother must walk, was silent, but
soon, with unfailing curiosity, began to be interested and amused. When,
reaching Second Street, they crossed the bridge over Dock Creek, they
found as they moved northward a brisk business life, shops, and more
varied costumes than are seen to-day. Here were Quakers, to madam's
amazement; nun-like Quaker women in the monastic seclusion of what later
was irreverently called the "coal-scuttle" bonnet; Germans of the
Palatinate; men of another world in the familiar short-clothes, long,
broidered waistcoat, and low beaver; a few negroes; and the gray-clad
mechanic, with now and then a man from the islands, when suddenly a
murmur of French startled the vicomtesse.

"What a busy life, _maman_," her son said; "not like that dark London,
and no fog, and the sun--like the sun of home."

"We have no home," she replied, and for a moment he was silent. Then,
still intent upon interesting her, he said:

"How strange! There is a sign of a likely black wench and two children
for sale. 'Inquire within and see them. Sold for want of use.' And
lotteries, _maman_. There is one for a canal between the Delaware and
the Schuylkill rivers; and one to improve the Federal City. I wonder
where that is." She paid little attention, and walked on, a tall, dark,
somber woman, looking straight before her, with her thoughts far away.

The many taverns carried names which were echoes from the motherland,
which men, long after the war, were still apt, as Washington wrote, to
call "home." The Sign of the Cock, the Dusty Miller, the Pewter Plate,
and--"Ah, _maman_," he cried, laughing, "The Inn of the Struggler. That
should suit us."

The sullen clerk, stirred at last by the young fellow's gay interest,
his eager questions, and his evident wish to distract and amuse a tired
woman who stumbled over the loose bricks of the sidewalk, declared that
was no place for them. Her tall figure in mourning won an occasional
glance, but no more. It was a day of strange faces and varied costumes.
"And, _maman_," said her son, "the streets are called for trees and the
lanes for berries." Disappointed at two inns of the better class, there
being no vacant rooms, t