Madam Wetherill made her brief explanation to show why she had ventured to bring two dashing redcoats, in their military trappings, to the home of the plain Quaker. James Henry looked at his nephew with many lines of doubt in his face and evident disapprobation.

"I have planned for the last two years to come over," said the winsome voice with the sound of glad, merry youth in it that jarred on the sedateness of his listener. "I was waiting for a promotion, and then had permission from the King to join General Howe. So I found him in possession of my native city, and in short order I discovered my little sister."

"We are men of peace," returned his uncle gravely. "William Penn founded his colony on the cornerstones of peace and equity, and all we ask is to live undisturbed and away from carnal pleasures and the wanton fripperies of the world. And it pains me to see Philemon Henry's son come among us in the habiliments of war. Still I suppose thou must do thy duty to thy Master, the King, since thou hast strayed from thy father's faith. There is no discipline now for children, and they follow evil counsel as they will."

"It was my father's will rather than mine. I remember, big boy that I was, crying many a night on shipboard for my stepmother's affection and kisses."

"It was an error of judgment, and he hath no doubt bewailed his mistake if it is given us to sorrow in the next world. But come in. And though thou art of the world, worldly, there is much in kindred blood. Come in and take welcome among us."

The keeping room was cheerful with a great fire of logs in the wide stone chimney-place. There was a spicy fragrance of pine knots and hemlock. In one corner Rachel Morgan sat at her spinning wheel, with a woman's cap upon her head, and a bit of thin white muslin crossed inside her frock at the neck; a full-fledged Quaker girl, with certain lines of severity hardly meet for so young a face. Mother Lois sat beside the fire knitting. She had never been quite so strong since her fever, and Faith had a basket of woolen pieces out of which she was patching some shapely blocks for a bed comfort.

She sprang up with a face full of joy. The summers were not so bad, but she dreaded the long, dreary winters when she had to stay indoors and sew and spin, with none of her own years to speak with.

"Oh, Primrose! And is it really thy brother? What a pretty habit thou hast with all the fur, and the hat makes a picture of thee! There is one upstairs of a great-grandmother, and thou lookest like it, but it belongs to Andrew and not to our side, and," lowering her voice, "Uncle Henry thinks it vain. Andrew wanted it in his room, but uncle would not listen. Oh, I am so glad to see thee. I am so lonely," piteously.

The little Quaker girl in her sudden delight had forgotten her superior virtue. Her eyes fairly danced as they devoured Primrose. All the others seemed talking and explaining, so she had dared to step over the traces in the din.

"We have some odd old portraits in Arch Street. If thou couldst visit me, Faith!"

"Faith," said her uncle, "go and call Andrew. I left him threshing in the farther barn."

Faith rose with sober gravity, running her needle through the patch, and walked placidly through the room, though she had telegraphed to Primrose with her eye. And just as she opened the door Primrose gathered up her skirts and, saying, "I will go, too," flashed along before anyone could frame a remonstrance.

"I wish thou wert here—nay, not that, for thou would be kept straitly, and there would be no pleasure. Rachel has grown severe, and works so much at her outfitting, for she means to be married sometime."

"Who will she marry?" There seemed no one besides Andrew, and the child's heart made a sudden fierce protest.

"Oh, I do not know. William Frost hath walked home with her when the meetings were at Friend Lester's. All girls marry, I think, and I shall be glad enough when my time comes. If it were not for Andrew I hardly know what would become of me. He is so good. He reads curious books and tells them to me. And sometimes there are verses that I want to sing, they are so sweet—but such things are wrong. Andrew! Nay, hide here, Primrose," pushing her in a corner. "Andrew, guess what has happened, and who hath come! An elegant soldier in scarlet and gold, and—and—someone thou lovest. I was mad one day when I said I hated her——"

"Not Primrose!" in a surprised but gladsome tone.

There was a swift rush and Primrose was in his arms. He did not kiss her, but held her so tightly that she could feel his strong heart beat.

"Truly, Faith, thou didst not hate me?" she said when released, turning to the girl.

The maiden's face was scarlet.

"She does not hate thee now, dear," said Andrew softly.

"It was most wicked and hateful! Thou hadst so many joys and pretty things and lessons, and a beautiful face, and then Andrew said thou didst have the sweetest big heart in all the world and could love me and would be glad to share thy joys with me. Is it so, Primrose?"

Primrose clasped her in her arms and kissed her many times.

"I wish thou could come. There are so many things, and it makes no one poorer by sharing them."

"And then I learned to love thee. We talk of thee until at night, when I shut my eyes and draw the coverlid about me, I can see thee like a star coming out in the blue. And Andrew thinks sometime he may take me in on market day, when the spring opens, for I would like to see the great city. And thou might come to meet us. I think Aunt Lois and Rachel would be angry if I went to Madam Wetherill's. But I am forgetting. Thou hast a soldier cousin, Andrew."

"He is my brother," explained Primrose with curious dignity. "And—I do not like him to be a King's soldier."

Andrew gave a long whistle of amazement, and studied Primrose so keenly that she flushed.

"Thy brother? Of course, then, being Uncle Philemon's son he is my cousin. Is he not Lord somebody?"

"He is Captain Nevitt. And at times I love him, but he teases and threatens to take me to England, and—and he is to fight our soldiers. It does not seem right, then, to love him at all. Andrew," looking up out of the softly radiant eyes, "I wish thou wert in his stead."

Andrew Henry was satisfied then. For an instant his soul had been wrung with jealousy. But his look of tender regard answered hers and both understood.

"And I must go see this British cousin. Faith, hand me that brush, even if it does get used at times on Dobbin's sleek coat."

He brushed the dust of the grain out of his clothes and gave his hair a stir with his fingers.

"And Primrose hath a pony!" cried Faith. "It is pretty, with great, soft eyes! Next summer I shall learn to ride."

She caught the hand of her visitor and pressed it with pervading rapture. Primrose wondered how she could have grown so different.

"Thou hast stayed finely!" said Rachel reprovingly. "It is ever the way when two do an errand. And Madam Wetherill will take dinner with us, it is so near noon. The horses must be put out, and Penn and Jonas are down in the wood lot. Go to the kitchen and help Chloe."

There were tears in Faith's eyes, but she dared not even loiter, for Rachel's hand was not light when it came with a box on the ear. There were so few visitors at the house that this was a great treat, and Faith hated to be shut out.

Philemon Nevitt surveyed his cousin with some curiosity and decided that the plain young Quaker farmer was no great rival after all in his young sister's favor. For he was not likely to fight for his country, the great test Primrose seemed to require. But when Andrew went out to care for the horses the two young men asked permission to leave the ladies and take a look around.

"The country surprises me," declared Captain Nevitt. "We have heard much talk about the wilderness and the forests, and the few towns such as Penn's Colony, which is a much greater city than one could imagine. And there is the town the Dutch started, New York, and the Puritan Boston, beside many lesser places that must show wonderful capacity for settling the New World. There are industries, too, that have amazed me. 'Tis a great pity a people doing so well should rebel against all law and order, and be willing to have their country destroyed rather than yield while they have something to save."

"We shall not agree upon this matter," Andrew Henry replied with quiet dignity. "And since we are of blood kin, we will not dispute. There are other subjects of talk."

"But my uncle is strong for peace," in a tone of surprise.

"Yes. I, too, am for peace, unless manliness and honor goes not with it. And when one has seen wrongs and usurpations creep in gradually, and privileges taken away—but," checking himself, "I was not to discuss such points. We are plain people but we may have some stock, and browsing for it, that will interest thee."

The cattle were certainly fine and well fed. There were stacks of hay and piles of Indian corn, great pits of vegetables, and potatoes enough to feed an army, it seemed. Everything was so well kept, and there was a great sheepfold with shelter for the flock in storm.

"And, now, which way retreated the rebels after their defeat?" asked Captain Nevitt.

"They went on up the Schuylkill, on the other side, to Whitemarsh first, and then to Valley Forge."

"A blacksmithy town?"

"There was once an old forge there. It is not a town."

"There seems many comfortable country houses about, as if there might be gentry."

"Some of them now are filled with the wounded and the ill. They were worth seeing in the summer."

Then they discussed horses and found the young Quaker no mean authority. The horn blew to summon them within, where a bountiful feast was spread, to which they all did ample justice and talked of family affairs. Captain Nevitt had another view of his father from his brother's comprehension of him, and though it was much narrower, not less complimentary than that of Madam Wetherill. Certainly there was nothing to regret on the Henry side. He was beginning to feel proud of these clean, wholesome people of strong character.

When they had risen Madam Wetherill said they must leave presently. The sky was getting to be rather lowering, with a grayish cloud in the south that betokened snow, Friend Henry said.

"I will go out with thee, Andrew, and see about the horses," said the lady.

"Nay," interposed Captain Nevitt smilingly. "It is hardly a lady's business——"

"I have some privacy with Andrew," she returned. "I have had some useful hints from him, young as he is, and you must know if women are not equipped for soldiering, they make excellent farmers at times. But you may all come, though if I extract any grand secret from Andrew as to how to double the value of a crop next year, I shall not bruit it abroad, I promise you."

Faith looked up wistfully.

"Child," she said, "thou and Primrose go take a little run in the keen air. Thou art not very rosy for a farmer's maid, and Primrose hath been housed overmuch of late, our streets are so full of roysterers."

"Faith hath some work——"

"Nay," interposed Madam Wetherill, "ten minutes' run will make her all the brisker for work. Run along, children; and have a little visit with each other."

There was something in Madam Wetherill not easily gainsaid. Rachel saved up her displeasure for a scolding presently.

Andrew attended the lady to the stalls where the horses had been led.

"Thou hast not been in to market of late?"

"There had been so much disorder, and I believe a permit is needed. Then there have been people about, buying up produce of all kinds."

"Dost thou know anything of the other army?" Her voice was very low.

"Somewhat," in a hesitating tone.

"They are likely to need many things. Howe's purpose to attack them was frustrated by a timely warning. There may be other warnings as well, for the army contains many braggarts. And their winter of dissipation, of gambling and betting and carousing, will not fit them for a spring campaign. I heard it said that Philadelphia was capturing them by allurements, and it may be a poor victory for General Howe. I have a faith—I cannot tell thee of any tangible groundwork, but I feel assured we shall win."

"It is dark enough now."

"But there was the splendid capture of Burgoyne, and our army made much richer by stores sorely needed. Canst thou get things to Valley Forge?"

"I know of someone who can," and he studied her eyes.

"Even if it is gold—British gold? It will not stick to anyone's fingers?"

"I will warrant that," and the delight encouraged her.

"I have a small fund that will come in from time to time. Here is a little bag. It is not much, but it will help. And if I could get needful things to them, clothes and blankets? If thou wilt sell provisions to me for them—thy father keeps a sharp lookout?"

"He hath a shrewd mind and far sight. And I would not render him liable to trouble. I think I could manage that way. Oh, madam, I ought to be with those brave fellows whom nothing disheartens. The general's wife hath left her pleasant, peaceful home to share his hardships. It is my country."

"Wait a little and be patient. It is a pity this fine cousin is on the wrong side. It would amuse thee to hear Primrose dispute with him. Now I trust thee to get this gold thither."

"Thank thee a hundred times for them. There are many loyal hearts in town, as I well know."

"And many disloyal ones. It angers me. Come in some time. Primrose will be overjoyed to see thee. She is growing tall fast, too fast for my pleasure. I would fain keep her a little girl."

"I am jealous of my cousin," declared Captain Nevitt coming out to them with the air of a spoiled boy. "When wilt thou give me a confidence?"

"All the way home," she answered readily. "And I have so many good points I think I shall bet on the next race. How many of you will ride?"

"Why do we not have some hunts?" he asked eagerly. "If there is no fighting there must be diversion."

They mounted the ladies and rode up to the door of the cottage to say good-by.

"I shall dream of thee to-night," Faith whispered to Primrose.

The wind blew up colder and sharper. They were glad to get home. There was a slight fall of snow and everything was frozen up hard enough to last all winter.

The streets seemed merrier than ever. All the creeks were frozen solid, it seemed, and the Schuylkill was a sparkling white band, winding about. Skating had broken out into fashion, and the prettiest belles of the day were out with trains of military men at their beck. The river banks would be lined with spectators, who envied, criticised, and carped. Women were muffled up in furs and carried huge muffs, their wide hats tied down under their chins with great bows, some wearing the silken mask, in much the fashion of a veil, to protect their skins from frosty touches. The skaters, in skirts that betrayed trim and slender ankles, spun along like a whirl of the wind, or with hands crossed with a partner, went through graceful rocking evolutions, almost like a waltz.

The scarlet uniforms of the officers made a brilliant pageant. It was indeed a winter long to be remembered, and recalled with keen relish when the British, with lovers and friends, had flown.

Captain Nevitt had insisted upon taking his sister out, as Primrose was a very fair skater, and, under his tuition, improved wonderfully. She looked so pretty in her skating dress with her soft, yellow hair flying in the wind, and her lovely face half hidden in her hat, to be revealed like a vision at the various turns.

Nevitt had been taken on General Howe's staff for the present. Foiled in his endeavor to call out Washington by any maneuver, and feeling that another battle was quite impossible and useless in the extreme cold, which was more bitter than for years, he too, gave himself over to diversion, and looked leniently on the frivolities of his officers and the ruder dissipations of his men.

The most fascinating game on the ice was skating after a ball. A man called the hurlie propelled half a dozen balls along with a long, sharp-pointed stick, between two given points, often far enough apart to make a trial of speed and endurance. The fortunate one was he or she who caught a ball before it reached the goal, and then the merriest shout would ring out on the air.

A tall, fine-looking young fellow in civilian attire had captured two of the balls one afternoon and was flying at his most vigorous speed for another. Primrose had paused for a moment while her brother stopped to chaff a companion. The ball rolled swiftly along, and from some slight inequality in the ice deflected. The arm was outstretched to catch it, and she could not quite remember afterward whether she had stooped, but he came against her with sufficient force to knock her over. He caught the ball and held it up in triumph, with a joyous hurrah, and then turned to see what the oath and the exclamation meant.

"Good Heavens! you have killed her, you brute!" Captain Nevitt cried angrily.

"I was under such headway and I had no thought the ball would go in that direction. Let us see at once. Is she unconscious? Dr. Shippen is here. I passed him not ten seconds ago. I will find him."

Nevitt took Primrose in his arms, limp and white as a lily. There was a little circle about them, but the others went on with their gayety. A fall was no such uncommon thing.

Dr. Shippen had been out for a little exercise, and withal had some curiosity to see the mad carnival that had broken out in the staid city.

"Ah, it is Madam Wetherill's little girl!" looking sharply at Nevitt.

"I thought I had seen the child somewhere," said the young man who had caused the accident. "Can we not take her home at once?"

"I am her brother," was Nevitt's stiff reply. "You have done enough mischief with your awkwardness. I hope your silly victory repays you. Let me pass, with no further parley on your part."

"What do you think, Dr. Shippen?"

"It is a faint, of course. Whether she is more severely injured I cannot tell. Let us take her home, for she will be chilled through, and I have an errand in Second Street."

The doctor sat down on a stump to unbuckle his skates. Nevitt had taken his off a few moments before, but Primrose had begged that they might skate all the way down.

"Can I do nothing to assist?" asked the other.

"Go on with your prize-winning," said the captain haughtily. "You may run over someone else if you have good luck."

"You British think you own the town and can order us about like slaves!" was the fiery reply.

"Tut! tut! Wharton! Don't get into a fight. You are hotheaded."

"I will not be insulted by any interloper, even if he wears a red coat." Wharton's face was flushed with anger, and his eyes sparkled with passion.

"Where will a note reach you?" Captain Nevitt was in a flame of anger as well.

"Come along at once! Allin Wharton, go over yonder and cool your temper talking to the pretty women. And if you are the child's brother, get along as fast as you can with her, and let us see what it amounts to. A fall like that is enough to knock the breath out of anyone."

Wharton did not attempt to follow them. They hurried on, Nevitt's anger giving him strength. He pressed his face against the cold, white one.

"Who was that boor?" he cried passionately. "If my sister is injured I shall half murder him!"

"If you are her brother then you are Philemon Henry's son, and he was a man of peace. I have had a great desire to see you, since your father was a good friend of mine. I heard you had come over, I must say on bad business. Here, this turn cuts off some distance, though we have been squared according to plummet and line; and then down here. Let me take the child. Is there no sign of returning animation?"

They reached the Wetherill house, and its mistress caught sight of them from the window.

"Oh, Dr. Shippen!" she cried in alarm.

"The child has had a fall. Take off her hat and coat. Now let me see!"

He laid her on the settle in the hall and began chafing her hands, and ordering some restoratives.

"Are you sure there are no bones broken?"

"Not quite. It really was not that kind of a fall. There, she is coming around. Now, Madam Wetherill, here is a pepper-pot of a young soldier that you must cool down with some soothing potions, and I will find the other firebrand. We won't have them shooting each other unless in up and down warfare."

"I think you will bear witness that I was insulted," declared Nevitt.

"And gave an insult. It is about even. No fighting, therefore. Dueling for trifles is cold-blooded murder. I ask it for your father's sake. My little dear, wake up from your nap."

"What is it?" Primrose said in a faint voice. "I feel queer." Then she lapsed into insensibility again.

"Take her upstairs if you will, please. And, doctor, what mystery is there about this mishap? How did it occur? Patty, come hither."

The child opened her eyes again and half smiled.

"She will do now, I think; her pulse is stronger. Here is a small injury; nothing worse than a sprain, I think. She was run down on the ice. Our town goes crazy over a trifle now. The wrist is bruised and sprained. Patty, if you are the owner of so useful a name, undress the child, but I think she hath no broken bones."

The men retired to the adjoining room while Patty alternately scolded and petted her young charge.

"I hope you will reconsider your threat," said the doctor. "There are too many good uses for life to throw it away foolishly. If you are a King's man your life belongs to him, and is not to be wasted in a fit of temper."

Philemon Nevitt flushed with a sense of shame. He had been hotheaded, unreasonable.

There was no serious injury, they found. The bruised wrist was to be bound up with the old-fashioned remedy of wormwood and hot vinegar. And to-morrow Primrose would be all right again.

"Do you know this Allin Wharton?" Nevitt asked of Madam Wetherill.

"I know his family well, only young people have such a way of growing up that one loses track of them. He cannot be more than twenty. And words between you ought not to lead to any serious matter. You should have kept better watch of Primrose in such a crowd."

"I think I ought," he admitted frankly. "And I was hasty." He recalled the fact that he had given the insult, and that the other had the right to seek satisfaction. In London duels were common enough.

But by great good fortune young Wharton called on Madam Wetherill the next morning to inquire about the mishap to Primrose and found her none the worse except a bandaged wrist.

"Is it really true that this fire-eating young captain is—what shall I say? A relative, since this pretty flower is your niece, is she not? And Polly was so taken with him, but for his red coat, that when I began to talk of him I found I had fallen into a hornets' nest. And now, Madam Wetherill, what shall I do? Some hot and hasty words passed between us. Can I safely show the white feather? For no doubt your captain is a fine shot, and, truth to tell, I have some other plans for my life. Since he is even half-brother to Miss Primrose I should not want to shoot him."

Primrose looked up with languid sweetness. She felt rather sore and inert from the shock.

"Why, were you going to shoot him?" she asked.

"We had some words. You know I ran over you. It was very rude and careless. And it might have been much worse, and then I should really have been guilty."

"But you caught the ball! I saw it as I went down. I should not have been so intent and moved a little. But I had not taken off my skates. Brother Phil wanted me to, but I was quite determined to have my own way. And so I went over more easily. It would be very cruel and wicked to shoot each other on account of me."

"And silly, too," said Madam Wetherill sharply. "I shall take the case in my own hands, and arrange matters," laughingly. "I think Captain Nevitt was unmindful for a moment. And there is no great harm done but a sprained wrist."

"And if you had shot Phil——"

"Well, what would you have done?"

"I should never, never want to see you or to think of you again!"

"And if he had shot me?"

"Then, I think, I should send him away and never see him again."

Allin Wharton wondered how it would be in the future if they should meet on the field of battle. For he had just wrung a reluctant consent from his father that he should respond to his country's call, whose need would never be more urgent than now.

"I wonder if you are on the side of the King? It would seem so natural with a brother in the ranks," and he recalled the entertainment in his honor at Madam Wetherill's hands. Polly, his sister, had thought the captain charming.

"I am a rebel," she said proudly. "And I shall never be content until he comes over to the side of the country, to the buff and blue instead of the red."

"Surely, surely; you are a brave, patriotic girl. Wish me success in case I want to join the rebel army," with a half-embarrassed smile. It was not wisdom to confess all one's plans.

She put out her right hand. It was the other that had been hurt. "I wish thee success. That means victory and a safe return," she replied with sweet solemnity.