issing him, and such foolishness wins a man when plain common sense
gets flouted."

"I have never thought of such a thing," and her face was full of
surprise, though the lovely color kept coming and going, and her eyes
flashed a little. "I do not want any lovers, and as for husbands,
nothing would tempt me to change with Mistress Anabella. And there is
poor Betty Randolph, full of sorrow. No, I mean to be like Madam
Wetherill, who can always do as she pleases."

"Silly child! I should be sorry indeed for the man who took thee. But
Madam Wetherill was married once."

"And her husband died. No, I cannot bear death and sorrow," and she gave
a quick shiver.

"Thou hast made trouble enough for Andrew. First it was getting away and
mooning over books and strange things, instead of useful ones. Then it
was passing food and clothing out to Valley Forge, and running his neck
in a noose. Then it was going to war, for which his father disowned
him."

"Nay, not that altogether." She looked steadily at Rachel, whose eyes
fell a little.

"Yes, if he had not gone he would not have been disowned. It was through
thy preachment. Thou hast cost him trouble everywhere. And now, if he
should return, thou canst make or mar again."

"I shall not mar," proudly.

"It stands this way. Thy mother was one of the smiling, tempting,
deceitful women, who can twist a man about her finger. She spoiled thy
father's life and would have won him from the faith----"

Primrose's slim form trembled with indignation and Rachel cowered
beneath the flashing eye.

"That is a falsehood, Mistress Rachel, and God will surely mark thee for
it! There is an old journal of my father's that, beside business dates
and comments, has bits of sweetness about her, and how he thanks God for
her, and that she is the sunshine of his life, and if he were to lose
her, all would be darkness. Madam Wetherill is to give it to me when I
am quite grown."

"I but repeat what I have heard Uncle James say. And if thou wert to
marry Andrew he would forbid him the house as much as he did when Andrew
became a soldier. He does not approve of thee nor thy tribe."

The hot blood stained the girl's cheeks. Yes, she had long mistrusted
that her uncle did not like her, and that he fancied in some way Madam
Wetherill had gotten the better of him.

"I am not going to marry Andrew--nor anyone. I love him very much, but I
know it is not in that way. And my own life is growing exceedin