en we
reached Lebanon we found Toby at the cottage with his waistcoat a foot
too big for him--so hard he had worked amongst the yellow-fever people.
He beat me for running off with the Indians, but 'twas worth it--I was
glad to see him,--and when we went back to Philadelphia for the winter,
and I was told how he'd sacrificed himself over sick people in the
yellow fever, I thought the world and all of him. No I didn't neither.
I'd thought that all along. That yellow fever must have been something
dreadful. Even in December people had no more than begun to trinkle back
to town. Whole houses stood empty and the niggers was robbing them out.
But I can't call to mind that any of the Moravian Brethren had died. It
seemed like they had just kept on with their own concerns, and the good
Lord he'd just looked after 'em. That was the winter--yes, winter of
Ninety-three--the Brethren bought a stove for the Church. Toby spoke in
favour of it because the cold spoiled his fiddle hand, but many thought
stove-heat not in the Bible, and there was yet a third party which
always brought hickory coal foot-warmers to service and wouldn't speak
either way. They ended by casting the Lot for it, which is like pitch
and toss. After my summer with the Senecas, church-stoves didn't highly
interest me, so I took to haunting round among the French _emigres_
which Philadelphia was full of. My French and my fiddling helped me
there, d'ye see. They come over in shiploads from France, where, by what
I made out, every one was killing every one else by any means, and they
spread 'emselves about the city--mostly in Drinker's Alley and Elfrith's
Alley--and they did odd jobs till times should mend. But whatever they
stooped to, they were gentry and kept a cheerful countenance, and after
an evening's fiddling at one of their poor little proud parties, the
Brethren seemed old-fashioned. Pastor Meder and Brother Adam Goose
didn't like my fiddling for hire, but Toby said it was lawful in me to
earn my living by exercising my talents. He never let me be put upon.

'In February of Ninety-four--No, March it must have been, because a new
ambassador called Fauchet had come from France, with no more manners
than Genet the old one--in March, Red Jacket came in from the
Reservation bringing news of all kind friends there. I showed him round
the city, and we saw General Washington riding through a crowd of folk
that shouted for war with England. They gave him quite rough