"He is my brother," explained Primrose with curious dignity. "And—I do not like him to be a King's soldier."
Andrew gave a long whistle of amazement, and studied Primrose so keenly that she flushed.
"Thy brother? Of course, then, being Uncle Philemon's son he is my cousin. Is he not Lord somebody?"
"He is Captain Nevitt. And at times I love him, but he teases and threatens to take me to England, and—and he is to fight our soldiers. It does not seem right, then, to love him at all. Andrew," looking up out of the softly radiant eyes, "I wish thou wert in his stead."
Andrew Henry was satisfied then. For an instant his soul had been wrung with jealousy. But his look of tender regard answered hers and both understood.
"And I must go see this British cousin. Faith, hand me that brush, even if it does get used at times on Dobbin's sleek coat."
He brushed the dust of the grain out of his clothes and gave his hair a stir with his fingers.
"And Primrose hath a pony!" cried Faith. "It is pretty, with great, soft eyes! Next summer I shall learn to ride."
She caught the hand of her visitor and pressed it with pervading rapture. Primrose wondered how she could have grown so different.
"Thou hast stayed finely!" said Rachel reprovingly. "It is ever the way when two do an errand. And Madam Wetherill will take dinner with us, it is so near noon. The horses must be put out, and Penn and Jonas are down in the wood lot. Go to the kitchen and help Chloe."