The poorest artisan in Boston with nothing to lose but his life did not embrace the patriot cause with any greater eagerness than did these Washingtons with their broad acres and thousands of pounds on bond.

There is every reason to believe that Martha Washington was helpful to her husband in many ways.  At home she was a good housewife and when Washington was in public life she played her part well.  No brilliant sallies of wit spoken by her on any occasion have come down to us, but we know that at Valley Forge she worked day and night knitting socks, patching garments and making shirts for the loyal band of winter patriots who stood by their leader and their cause in the darkest hour of the Revolution.

A Norristown lady who paid her a call in the little stone house that still stands beside the Schuylkill relates that “as she was said to be so grand a lady, we thought we must put on our best bibs and bands.  So we dressed ourselves in our most elegant ruffles and silks, and were introduced to her ladyship.  And don’t you think we found her knitting with a specked apron on! She received us very graciously, and easily, but after the compliments were over, she resumed her knitting.”

But the marriage was a failure in that there were no children.  No doubt both wanted them, for Washington was fond of young people and many anecdotes are handed down of his interest in little tots.  Some one has remarked that he was deprived of offspring in order that he might become the Father of His Country.

Toward those near and dear to her Martha Washington was almost foolishly affectionate.  In one of her letters she tells of a visit “in Westmoreland whare I spent a weak very agreabley.  I carred my little patt with me and left Jackey at home for a trial to see how well I coud stay without him though we ware gon but won fortnight I was quite impatiant to get home.  If I at aney time heard the doggs barke or a noise out, I thought thair was a person sent for me.  I often fancied he was sick or some accident had happened to him so that I think it is impossible for me to leave him as long as Mr. Washington must stay when he comes down.”

Any parent who has been absent from home under similar circumstances and who has imagined the infinite variety of dreadful things that might befall a loved child will sympathize with the mother’s heart—­in spite of the poor spelling!

Patty Custis was an amiable and beautiful girl who when she grew up came to be called “the dark lady.”  But she was delicate in health.  Some writers have said that she had consumption, but as her stepfather repeatedly called it “Fits,” I think it is certain that it was some form of epilepsy.  Her parents did everything possible to restore her, but in vain.  Once they took her to Bath, now Berkeley Springs, for several weeks and the expenses of that journey we find all duly set down by Colonel Washington in the proper place.  As Paul Leicester