s."

"But a sweet and pretty one, Andrew. One like Miss Whiting, who is
intelligent and noble and reads a great many things and has a lovely
garden of flowers. I want you to be very, very happy, Andrew."

"Thank you, little one. Let me wish the same for you. A gallant young
lover with ambition, who can take his place in society and who will
enjoy with you the youthful pleasures that are so much to you, and then
grow older with you and come to ripe middle life and serene old age. I
think I could put my finger on someone----"

Primrose's sweet face was scarlet, and her eyes suddenly fluttered down
with tremulous lids.

"Thou hast been a dear little sister," going back to the Quaker speech.
"Thy happiness will be much to me; thy pain, if any happened to thee,
would be my pain. Thy prosperity will always be my prayer, for I think
thou wert born for sunniness and clear sailing and joy, with someone
bright and young like thyself."

"A little sister," she repeated softly. If it was that and only that,
her conscience would be clear.

"Yes. Didst thou ever doubt it?"

He raised his serene brown eyes and smiled. He was not one to carry all
his soul in his eyes.

"Nay, and I never shall." She pressed her lips to his forehead, which
was as fair as any girl's. How long it had been since he kissed her! He
might trust himself again on her wedding day.

"And now tell me about Rachel. We have queer talk of loves and such."

"He is a young man, a neighbor, the eldest of several sons. And Rachel
hath a nice dower. I hope all will go well."

She was infinitely sorry for Rachel at that moment.

"You will come soon and see us. I send love to Aunt Lois," and Primrose
turned.

"Fare thee well. Blessings attend thee, little one."

He sat there a long while, thinking how her mother had given up many
worldly things for the man she loved. Primrose would do it, too, he said
stoutly to himself, if she had loved. It was best this way. The sunshine
did not rise up from the brown earth, but shone down out of the radiant
blue sky.

Primrose Henry went home with a light heart. And that evening Allin
Wharton had his answer.

Madam Wetherill shook her head, but said smilingly, "If you take the
young woman you must take the old one, too. I will never give up
Primrose."

The girl's soft arms were around her neck and the sweet young voice,
with a rapture of emotion, cried, "Oh, madam, am I indeed so dear to
you?"

* *