"Who runs over thee again," said Patty sharply, for she had heard the story.
"Nay, but it is quite a godsend, as I have been to thy aunt's to say good-by. In an hour's time I shall be on my way to Valley Forge to cast in my lot with the brave fellows there, and I wanted to take thy godspeed with me. I have great faith in it."
"Oh!" Primrose gave a little cry.
"I want thee to be both sorrowful and joyful. Glad that thou hast a patriot friend, and sorry that there should be war. I could not wait any longer and wrung my father's consent from him, though he thinks we are right. And I believe we shall have a great and grand country some day that soldiers will be proud of defending. I go this very night with a party of young men who have planned to elude observation. And so—good-by."
"I wish thee—a safe return."
"Thanks. Keep me in mind when thou prayest for soldiers and victory."
Then he was gone like a flash.
"I have no heart for the skaters now," Primrose said with a sigh. "Let us go home."
The Whartons kept the news very quiet, for it would have made them a marked family to have it bruited abroad just now. But Polly was less gay, and Primrose watched her wonderingly.
And now the long cold winter was drawing to a close. In March came gleams of warmth, welcome sunny days that softened the ice and spoiled skating, and the great Delaware sent floating cakes down to the sea. Buds began to swell and grass to spring up, and there was a great deal of drilling among the troops, and sickness as well.