"Truly." Yet he said it with a pang. How sweet and dainty she was! He would not have used the words, they were strange to him, but they sent a thrill through his body, as music sometimes does.

"Come, dinner will be ready."

"Will anyone scold me?" fearfully.

"No one shall scold thee."

They walked together to the house. Rachel was just blowing the horn.

Faith looked curiously at her and rather exulted in the punishment she would get.

Andrew went straight to the sick room.

"I am afraid thy mother is ill beyond the power of herb teas," said James Henry. "What a G.o.dsend that we should have Rachel! And oh, Heaven grant that it may not be as it was before! the strong and helpful one taken, and the helpless left."

Lois Henry was deeply flushed now and lay with her eyes half open, muttering to herself.

"Mother?" he said, but she did not notice him.

He went out to dinner in a thoughtful mood, but he had no appet.i.te.

Primrose was hungry enough, but looked up smilingly now and then. Dr.

Reed came in earlier than his wont and accepted the invitation to dine, asking questions occasionally as to how Friend Lois had been last week, and if she had shown any tendency to be flurried.

"She hath not been quite herself, now that I come to recall it,"

answered Rachel, "and complaining of being tired and not sleeping well.

Oh, I hope----" She was about to add, "it will not be with her as it was with my poor mother," but tears stopped her.

It was a fever sure enough. It would be better to have her in a separate chamber, and if some old nurse would come in. "There was Mistress Fanshaw, only come home last week."

"I will go for her," responded Andrew.

"I shall be in on the second day," the doctor announced, as he mounted his horse and settled his saddlebags.

"A sad thing for all of us." Rachel wiped her eyes with the end of her stout linen ap.r.o.n.

"I shall take Primrose back to Wetherill farm."

"Oh, that will indeed be a relief. She and Faith, I foresee, would not get along together, and I could not manage such a froward child."

Andrew made no reply. There was a little more work devolving upon him, and he deputed the rest of the day's management to Penn.

He had fortified himself with many arguments as to why Primrose should return to her great aunt, but to his surprise, his father a.s.sented at once. He was much worried about his wife, who had never been ill before.

Primrose was glad with a great delight. She sat under the tree with Faith and roused the child's envy with accounts of her life in town, and the time for pleasure.

"But dost thou not sew or knit?"

"Nay, except lacework and hemst.i.tching, but I shall as I grow older.

There is Patty to sew, and as for stockings, I do not know how they come, for no one knits them, and they are fine and nice, with gay clocks in them, and oftentimes silken. I like the pretty things. But all Friends are not so plain. Some come to us with silken petticoats and such gay, pretty ap.r.o.ns, just like a garden bed."

Faith sighed. And now she wished Primrose might say, there was such witchery in her words.

Madam Wetherill was much surprised to have Primrose return so soon, but not sorry, she frankly admitted. She was greatly concerned about Friend Henry and hoped the fever would not be over troublesome.

"Good-by, little one," Andrew said, holding her hand. "I hope thou wilt be very happy; and I shall come to hear how it fares with thee."

Did she pull the stalwart figure down with her small hands? He bent over and kissed her and then blushed like a girl.

"Fie, Primrose! Thou art a little coquette, and learning thy lesson young!"

"But I like him very much," she replied with brave seriousness.

"Only--it's pleasanter to live with thee," and she hid her face in Madam Wetherill's gown.

CHAPTER X.

TO TURN AND FIGHT.

James Henry mended slowly, and Lois' fever lasted a month before she could leave her bed, and then she could only totter about. Rachel had proved herself a daughter of the house, efficient, thoughtful, and capable, and although a few weak protests had been made, it was an undeniable relief not to have Primrose to consider.

The town had been stirred to the utmost by conflicting views and parties. Washington had gone to Boston to take command of the troops, and now sent for his family from their quiet retreat at Mount Vernon.

Most of the people had shut up their country houses and come into town, and now that it was announced that Mrs. Washington would make a brief stop on her way to Cambridge, there was a curious feeling pervading the community in spite of a very pardonable interest. What if the war should be a failure?

"But we have committed ourselves too deeply to draw back now," said some of the loyal women. "Let us pay her all courtesy."

The rebel party resolved to give a ball in her honor at New Tavern. Mrs.

Hanc.o.c.k was also in the city, and some fine preparations were made.

There was a heated discussion. Some of the more sedate people, who never took part in gayeties, represented that this would be a most inopportune time for such a revel when the country was in the throes of a mighty struggle.

Christopher Marshall, who was a Quaker by birth, but had espoused the side of the colonies warmly, went to John Hanc.o.c.k, who was then President of the Congress, and requested him to lay the matter seriously before Mrs. Washington and beg her to decline the invitation, "while her brave husband was exposed in the field of battle." She a.s.sented most cheerfully, and was in no wise offended.

There was a bevy of women discussing this at Madam Wetherill's; the young ones loud in their disappointment, as gayeties had not been very frequent so far.

"And I like Colonel Harrison's s.p.u.n.k in chiding Mr. Samuel Adams," said someone. "He agreed there would be no impropriety in it, but rather an honor. And we should all have seen Lady Washington."

"_Lady_ forsooth! I did not know the widow Custis had put on such airs with her second marriage. Presently we shall hear of Mount Vernon palace if Dunmore does not make short work of it. And some of the rebels sneer at good English t.i.tles, or think it heroic to drop them."

Mrs. Ferguson was well known for her Tory proclivities. She ran her cards over as she held her hand up, and the excellence of it pleased her.

"But I am desperately disappointed," declared Kitty Ross. "And if we are to go in sackcloth all winter I shall die of the megrims. There is my new petticoat of brocaded satin, and my blue gown worked with white and silver roses down the sides, and across the bosom, with such realness you would declare they were fresh picked. And lace in the sleeves that my great-grandmother wore at the French Court. And surely there would be many gallants ready to dance. I am just dying for some merriment."

"Not much will you see until this folly is over."

"It does not seem to end rapidly. I hear the men at Boston are very stanch and in earnest since the murder of their brethren."

"Murder indeed! Truly we have grown very fine and sensitive. They had no more than they deserved. And Ma.s.sachusetts hath ever been one of the most turbulent provinces."