re dainty caps and tiny shirts of cambric, whose
linen was like a gossamer web, and whose delicate lines of hem-stitch
were scarcely discernible; there were small dresses, yellow with the
sun color that time had poured over them, and they hung with pathetic
crease 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 the
little caps in her hands, she pulled out the crumpled lace that edged
them. She said, through the swift-falling tears:

"Oh, I remember when he was brought home _dead_, and how, in the
Independence 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 Adamses
every one," and she softly pressed the baby-caps that had been wrought
by a mother, ere the country began, to her small Quaker lips, with
real 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. She
studied it long, trying to discern the faces, with their savage
beauty; the sturdy right-doing men who stood before them; and then
her eyes began to glisten, and gather light from the picture; her lips
parted, her breath quickened; for Patty Rutter had gone beyond her
life associations in Massachusetts, back to the times in which her
Quaker ancestors had make treaty with the native Indians.

"It is!" she cried with a shout; "It is Penn's treaty!" Patty gazed at
it until she could see no longer. "I'm glad it is the last thing my
eyes will remember," she said sorrowfully, when in the gloom she
turned away, went down the hall, and entered her glass chamber.

"Never mind my watch," she said softly. "When I waken it will be
daylight, and I need not wind it. It will be so sweet to lie here
through 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 silken
quilt 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 her
long nap, _fully indorsed by Miss Adams_, and in Independence Hall,
across the passage way