"'Twould be a queer world indeed," and Primrose half smiled, for her moods were like an April day.
"Then thy mother was a wise, winsome woman," said Madam Wetherill in fond remembrance.
"That is what wins me to Phil," returned the girl. "When he talked of her and all her pretty ways, and the dainty verses and tales she told him, and how she shielded him from his father's displeasure when he would have been whipped, then he seems like a vision of her come back. But, now that he is going to fight against my country——" and the rosy lips curled in scorn. "He might have remained a fine, pleasure-loving soldier, doing no real harm, fit to dance with pretty women or march in a fine parade."
She discussed this with Polly Wharton, who was now her dearest friend, although she was two years older.
"Art thou not unduly bitter, Primrose?" Polly always chided in grave Quaker phraseology, but, like many of the younger generation, fell into worldly pronouns in seasons of haste or merriment. "We should be ashamed of him if he saw his duty and weakly shirked it. I am sorry such a fine fellow, with good American blood in his veins, should be a Tory. In truth I cannot see at present how the quarrel can be mended, and I am desperately sorry."
Polly's cheeks were pink as a rose.
"It never will be mended now. Times are hard with us, to be sure, and there is much discouragement, but the French army and a great navy have reached Newport, and Aunt Wetherill was reading of a French loan. That wise Mr. Adams is in Paris with our dear Mr. Franklin——"
"Who plays chess with French beauties and writes them skits and bagatelles, and, no doubt dances the grave minuet with them. And then we blame our young lads for having a little pleasure! But 'tis darkest just before dawn, and maybe we have come to the darkest times."
"And I am certain the dawn will come. God will not let such a good cause and so great an effort in behalf of human liberty go by default."
So they worked on and hoped. There was great interest in the Southern campaign now.