acknowledged the welcome comfort of lavender-scented sheets and drank
eagerly the milk-punch they brought.

Within an hour Schmidt had the little French surgeon at his bedside, and
soon Rene's face and torn thigh were fitly dressed. There was to be
quiet, and only madame or Mrs. Swanwick, and a little laudanum and no
starvation. They guarded him well, and, as he said, "fiercely," and,
yes, in a week he might see people. "Not Mistress Wynne," said the
doctor; "a tornado, that woman: but Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Wynne." He was
impatient enough as he lay abed and ate greedily wonderful dishes from
Darthea Wynne; and there, from the only greenhouse in the town, were
flowers, with Mrs. Robert Morris's compliments, and books, the latest,
from Mistress Gainor, "for the hero, please," for by now the town was
astir with Captain Biddle's story. The German wrote for him notes of
thanks, but as yet would not talk. He could wait to hear of his voyage.

He was on a settle one morning alone with Schmidt. There came a discreet
knock at the door. "Come in," called Schmidt, and Margaret entered,
saying: "These are the first. I gathered them myself at Uncle Josiah's,"
from which it may be understood that Josiah had made his peace.

"I found them on the Wissahickon. Smell of them," she said as she set
her bowl of fragrant trailing-arbutus before him, coloring a little, and
adding: "Mother said I must not stay. We are glad thou art better."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," said the young man. The air of spring, the
youth of the year, was in the room. As the door closed behind Margaret,
Schmidt asked: "Rene, did you ever see the Quaker lady?--the flower, I
mean."

"Yes, once. And now again. How she grows!"

"Yes, she does grow," said Schmidt. "I have noticed that at her age
young women grow." While he spoke, Mr. Wynne came in, a grave, reserved,
sturdy man, in whom some of the unemotional serenity of his Quaker
ancestry became more notable as he went on into middle life.

Schmidt excused himself, and Wynne sat down, saying: "You seem quite
yourself, Vicomte. I have heard the whole story from Captain Biddle. You
have made one more friend, and a good one. You will be amused to learn
that the French party is overjoyed because of your having victualed the
starving Jacobins. The Federals are as well pleased, and all the
ship-owners at the baffling of the corvette. No, don't speak; let me
finish. The merchants at the coffee-house have voted both of