ttle girl and
I longed to have you for my sister. It will not hurt you, as the years
go on, to know you won a soldier for your country and a lifelong
patriot. And I know Andrew Henry will not grudge me one kiss. God give
thee all happiness. Good-by."

He pressed his lips to her forehead and turned.

"God bless thee," she said, and he bowed reverently as he went out of
the room.

She stood quite still, never heeding the tears that dropped on the front
of her gown. Andrew Henry! Her dear, dear cousin, who was like a
brother. Did he love her that way? Did she love him? And if she did
there was her solemn promise to Rachel.

She ran upstairs and had a good cry.

"Whatever is the matter?" asked Patty. "You are fuller of whims than an
egg is of meat, for the egg has a breathing space if the chick wants it.
Not an hour ago you were laughing like a mocking bird. You had better
have a pitcher of sweet balm for your nerves. You have dissipated too
much, but thank Heaven there are no more weddings near by."

Primrose dried her eyes and laughed again presently. It was noon when
Madam Wetherill returned. Attorney Chew had been in with some new plans
that were quite wonderful.

"And Captain Vane to say good-by. What friends he and Phil are! But he
is a soldier born, if ever there was one. And he looked so fine and
spirited. He said he had been here."

"For a few minutes, yes. And now, dear madam, when you are rested, can
we have a better afternoon to ride out to the Pembertons'? I have
promised some books to Julia, and that new sleeve pattern, and to-morrow
Polly comes in."

"Well, child--yes, after my nap. 'Tis a lovely day, and every day is so
busy. Yes, we will go."

She hath escaped that danger, Madam Wetherill thought. And in her heart
she honored the brave soldier; how brave, she was never quite to know.

Was there ever a summer without diversions? There was a new interest in
plants and flowers. Parties went out to John Bartram's, the quaint old
house with its wide doorway and the great vines that had climbed over it
for years, until they had grown thick as a man's wrist, almost hiding
the names cut in the stone long ago, of John and Elizabeth Bartram. The
old garden of flowers and the ferns were worth some study. And there
were rambles in the lanes, going after wild strawberries, and even the
venturesome ones went on the sly to Dunk's Ferry and had their fortune
told by Old Alice. There were many little shrieks a