"What art thou studying about so gravely?" when Primrose lapsed into silence and let her small white hand lie in his brown one.
"I was thinking. Penn is here, and does your father need two sons? Aunt Wetherill said, one day, that you were wasted on the farm, and that some of the generals ought to have you for your cool clear head, and your strength, and oh! I do not remember what else. And if you would come into town——"
"If thou were older, Primrose, thou couldst tempt a man to his undoing. But thou art a sweet, simple child. And when my country needs me she will not ask about my faith. Already there is more than one Quaker soldier in her ranks."
"Primrose!" Rachel had been sitting on the old stone step until there seemed a curious fire kindled all through her body at the sight of the golden head on the broad shoulder. "Primrose, come in. The dew is falling."
"There is no dew here under the tree," returned Andrew.
"It is high bedtime. Faith is going. Come!"—peremptorily.
There were times when Primrose was fond of teasing Rachel, but she rose now. When she had gone a step or two she turned around for a kiss.
"I am ashamed of thee!" Rachel said sharply. "Thou art a bold child to hang around after men. Didst thou kiss him? That was shameful."
"It was not shameful. I will ask him——"
Rachel caught her arm. "Aunt Lois will be shocked! No nice little girl does such a thing! Faith would be whipped for it. Go straight along."