"Dull?" Then she threw her arms about the elder's neck and kissed her
many times.

"Child, thou wilt make me almost as silly as thyself. In my day a maiden
stood with downcast eyes and made her simple courtesy for favors, and
thou comest like a whirlwind. Sure, there is not a drop of Quaker blood
in thy veins, thou art so fond of kissing. Thou art Bessy Wardour all
over."

"See, madam--dost thou like me better this way?"

She stood before her in great timidity with clasped hands and eyes down
to the ground. And she was so irresistible that Madam Wetherill caught
her in her arms.

"I am quite as bad as thou," she declared. "We are a couple of silly
children together. If thou should ever marry----"

"But I shall not marry. I shall be gay and frisky all my first years;
then I shall take to some solid employment, perhaps write a volume of
letters or chatty journal and say sharp things about my neighbors, wear
a high cap and spectacles, and keep a cat who will scratch every guest.
There, is it not a delightful picture?"

"Go and write thy letters, saucy girl. All the men will fear thy tongue,
that is hung so it swings both ways."

"Like the bells on the old woman's fingers and toes, 'It makes music
wherever I go.' Is not that a pretty compliment? Polly Wharton's brother
gave it to me. Ah, if my brother had been like that!"

"Do not say hard or naughty things to him, moppet. What is past is
past."

Primrose Henry's brother was greatly moved by some traces of tears he
found in the epistle, and he was so hungering for the comforts of a
little affection that he started at once.

She was much troubled now about her cousin's return. For Friend Henry
had fallen into a strange way and the doctor said he would never be any
better. The fall had numbed his spine and gradually affected his limbs.
He gave up going out, and could hardly hobble about the two rooms. Some
days he lay in bed all the time, and scarcely spoke, sleeping and
seeming dazed. Lois watched over him and waited on him with the utmost
devotion.

"Is that the voice of the child Primrose?" he asked sharply one morning
as she was cheerfully bidding Chloe and Rachel good-day.

"Yes. Wouldst thou like to see her?"

He nodded. But when Primrose came in he stared and shook his head.

"That is Bessy Wardour. I want the child Primrose," he mumbled slowly.

"I am Primrose, uncle. Mamma hath been dead this long time. But I have
grown to a big girl, as childr