"And he was angry enough!" interposed Madam Wetherill.
"It was worse than that. Mere anger is, perhaps, outlived. He had some other plans," and the young Quaker flushed. "He gave me a fortnight to return, and, if not, would put Penn in my place and I need expect nothing more."
"See what thy talk hath led to, Primrose! For I was afraid thy patriotic rebellion was contagious."
Andrew smiled down on the child. "She hath been a wise little one, and I am not sorry to be her soldier. With women like you, madam, to bring up girls, and Lady Washington to care for disheartened soldiers, there will be still greater victories, and there can be but one end."
Primrose looked up with an enchanting smile. "I am proud of thee," she made answer with an exultant ring in her voice. "And there is Polly Wharton's brother who ran over me on the ice, and—my own brother that I pray may come around."
"I feel very much as if I had been on both sides of the fence," remarked Madam Wetherill. "Still I could not have helped so much if I had been outspoken on the rebel side. I heard many a little thing that could be passed on, and found how a few supplies could be forwarded without suspicion. But, Andrew, wilt thou never regret this step?"
"I considered well for many weeks. There were some other conditions I could not wisely accept. And Penn will be a good son to my father. Otherwise I could hardly have left him. But 'tis done now, and though I shall long many times to see my dear mother's face, I shall fight none the less bravely for our land. I hope to follow our intrepid Washington, and may soon be transferred."
"And leave the city?" cried Primrose in dismay.
"I do not quite like our new general. I am afraid the coming winter will be like the last, and I, for one, would have no heart for pleasure until we have won our independence."
Andrew promised to come in again when he was off duty, and Primrose reluctantly let him go. Yet she watched him with glistening eyes, and could hardly decide how much was glory and how much tears.