aised her lovely eyes that were to conquer many a heart later on,
and the lips quivered in entreaty like an opening rose in the breeze.

"Nay--I am here," he said. "And I love you. I want you."

She looked as if she was studying. A little crease came between her
eyes, but it seemed to him it made her prettier than before.

"But why must I come? Why must I stay?"

How could he make her understand?

"And there are some other girls--Faith and the big one. I do not like
her."

"But you will. I like her very much."

"Then you shall not like me." She struggled to free herself.

"Thou art a briery little Rose," and he smiled into her eyes and kissed
her. "I shall hold thee here until thou dost repent and want to stay
with me. Faith is not as sweet as thou and Rachel is too old for
caresses. Then I am not sure they are proper."

"When I get as old as Rachel--how old is that? shalt thou cease to care
whether I come or not?"

"I shall never cease to care. If I could change places with Madam
Wetherill I would never let thee go. But what folly am I talking! It is
the law that thou shalt do so."

"Who makes the law? Put me down, Andrew; I feel as if part of my body
would be drawn from the other part. Oh," laughing in a rippling, merry
fashion, "if such a thing _did_ happen! If there could be two of me!
Rose should be the part with the pink cheeks and the red, red lips, and
the bright eyes, and the other, Prim, might stay here."

"Thou naughty little midget! I am glad there cannot be two, if that is
thy division. I will take part of the time instead. Little Primrose, it
is a sad thing to part with those we love, even for a brief while. The
place was not the same when thou went away. And surely, then, thou wert
sorry to go."

Primrose was silent so long that he glanced into her eyes. There was
such a difference in eyes the young Quaker had learned. The pretty,
laughing women on the green at Wetherill farm had said so much with
theirs when they had not uttered a word. Rachel's were a dullish-blue,
sometimes a kind of lead color, Faith's light, with curious greenish
shadows in them. But these were like a bit out of the most beautiful
sky.

"It seemed quite terrible to me then," she made answer slowly. "Are
people very queer, Andrew? For then I was afraid of Mistress Kent and
Aunt Wetherill and everybody, and I wanted to stay here. And now it is
so merry and pleasant in Arch Street, and there is the spinet that I
sing t