"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."