t come
quite so soon. How queer it was to meet thus, but then, could any man
resist Primrose Henry?

Afterward they had a long talk. It seemed true now that Philemon Nevitt
stood very much alone in the world, and certainly whatever dreams he had
entertained of greatness were at an end. They had not been so very
ambitious, to be sure, but he was young yet and could begin a new life.

But first of all he was to get sound and in good spirits, and Madam
Wetherill quite insisted that he should spend the winter in Philadelphia
and really study the country he knew so little about.

Dinner-time came, and she would have him stay. Every moment he thought
Primrose more bewitching. For when one decided she was all froth and
gayety, the serious side would come out and a tenderness that suggested
her mother. It was not all frivolity, and he found she was wonderfully
well-read for a girl of that day.

Philemon Nevitt was more than surprised when his cousin made his
appearance. There was something in the hearty clasp and full, rich voice
that went to his lonely heart. Once he recalled that he had met the
quiet Quaker in his farm attire in this very house, and the bareness of
his uncle's home, at his call, had rather displeased his fashionable and
luxurious tastes.

They could not help thinking of the time when they had met in what might
have been deadly affray if Providence had not overruled. And now Andrew
Henry was many steps up the ladder of success; and he was down to the
very bottom. He felt almost envious.

"But Andrew does not mean to be a soldier for life," Primrose declared
afterward.

"What, not with this splendid prospect? And that martial air seems born
with him. Why, it would be sinful to throw so much away when it is in
his very grasp. I cannot believe it!"

"There is good Quaker blood in his veins as well," said Madam Wetherill
with a smile. "And the fighting Quakers have been the noblest of all
soldiers because they went from the highest sense of patriotism, not for
any glory. And you will find them going back to the peaceful walks of
life with as much zest as ever."

"Yet you are not a Quaker, though you use so much of the speech. And I
miss the pretty quaintness in Primrose. How dainty it was!"

Primrose ran away and in five minutes came back in a soft, gray silken
gown, narrow and quite short in the skirt, a kerchief of sheer mull
muslin crossed on her bosom, and all her hair gathered under a plain
cap.