"Someone betrayed him. He had taken great care. Wilt thou hear how he left the town?"
"Dost thou know?" raising her soft eyes.
Primrose told gleefully how they had disguised him and seen him safe on the road where he was not likely to meet the soldiery.
"And thou didst do this for him, dear child!"
She took the soft hands in hers, that were soft again now that she did little coarse labor.
"It was not much to do, surely. And it was rare fun when the guards passed us."
"I owe much to thee and Madam Wetherill. And did he speak of any return?"
"Nay, his is a soldier's life."
"I sometimes think it is not wisdom to plan children's lives. Perhaps if we had let him be," and she gave a gentle sigh. "But we had hopes he would fancy Rachel, and she somehow had set her heart upon it. He seemed not inclined to marry, and so we should have waited until the spirit guided him. Child, I thank thee for thy care and interest in him. We should have been glad if thou couldst have kept thy father's faith and been content to stay here, but I can see thou didst need a larger life. Perhaps we narrow ours too much. It may not always be the Lord's will as we think. I have strange ideas as I sit and knit or sew. And I remember that good Mr. Penn and his wife took much pleasure of a kind we hardly approve of now. It is hard to tell which is right."
"Dear Aunt Lois, whatever leads people to be sweet and joyful and thankful and kind to all who suffer cannot be far wrong. And were there no good men before the time of Mr. Fox and Mr. Penn?"