with that little sprinkle!" cried Primrose disdainfully.

There were dozens of pretty spring things in the woods, but violets were
enough. Large bluish-purple ones, down to almost every gradation. Then
Betty thought of an old-time verse and Lieutenant Vane of another.

"But it should be primroses," he said. "If we were at home in English
haunts we should find them. I don't know why I say at home, for I doubt
if it is ever my home again."

"I am a more hopeful exile than you," commented Betty Mason. "My country
will be restored to me, and I shall never forget that you helped."

What large, soft, dark eyes she had, and a voice with a peculiar
lingering cadence; but it did not go to one's heart like that of
Primrose.

The sun was speeding downward. It was a long walk home. Andrew Henry
headed the procession with his cousin, and Vane followed with Betty, so
it was Polly who had the two attendants, and Allin was rather out of
humor.

Janice Kent had a birthday supper for them, but with the treat at Larch
Alley, and, perhaps, some fatigue, they were not ravenous. Primrose sang
for them and was bewilderingly sweet--Andrew thought, just as the day
had been, full of caprices but ending in tender beauty. And then they
drank her health and wished her many happy returns, bidding her a very
fervent good-night.

There had been a good deal of enthusiasm about General Washington, and
many very warm friends had sympathized deeply with Mrs. Washington in
her sorrow. Plans of a new campaign had also been discussed. The city
was sorry to relinquish its noble guests. Society had taken on an aspect
of dignified courtesy; contending parties had ceased to rail at each
other, and there was a greater air of punctilious refinement, that was
to settle into a grace less formal than that of the old-time Quaker
breeding, but more elegant and harmonious. A new ambition woke in the
heart of the citizens to beautify, adorn, and improve. There was a stir
in educational circles, and the library that had languished so long was
making its voice heard. Peace was about to have her victory.

Andrew Henry was closeted a long while one morning with Madam Wetherill.

"I shall go to Newburgh with the General," he said, "but if there is to
be no more war I shall resign my commission. That sounds almost like a
martial declaration in favor of war, but it is not so. I was not meant
for a soldier except in necessity. There are those whom the life really
insp