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 Goos 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 Faucher 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 music,
but he looked 'twixt his horse's ears and made out not to notice. His
stirrup brished Red Jacket's elbow, and Red Jacket whispered up, "My
brother knows it is not easy to be a chief." Big Hand shot just one look
at him and nodded. Then there was a scuffle behind us over some one who
wasn't hooting at Washington loud enough to please the people. We went
away to be out of the fight. Indians won't risk being hit.'

'What do they do if they are?' Dan asked.

'Kill, of course. That's why they have such proper manners. Well,
then, coming home by Drinker's Alley to get a new shirt which a French
Vicomte's lady was washing to take the stiff out of (I'm always choice
in my body-linen) a lame Frenchman pushes a paper of buttons at us. He
hadn't long landed in the United States, and please would we buy. He
sure-ly was a pitiful scrattel--his coat half torn off, his face cut,
but his hands steady; so I knew it wasn't drink. He said his name
was Peringuey, and he'd been knocked about in the crowd round the
Stadt--Independence Hall. One thing leading to another we took him up
to Toby's rooms, same as Red Jacket had taken me the y