"I have seen him!" Primrose clasped both hands and the knitting fell to the floor.
"Seen him! Oh, child! Hath he been here?"
Her voice quavered and her eyes filled with tears.
Rachel picked up the knitting with a frown. The needle had slipped out half-way.
"Thou mightst have shown a little more care, Primrose," beginning to pick up the stitches.
"Tell me, tell me! Is he here now?"
"He came with the French soldiers. Oh, how fine and gallant they were! He could only stay one night, for the Commander had some special business for him at the seat of war. All the troops are going on, and it is hoped that, when the Continentals win, this will lead to peace."
"When they win," said Rachel with doubtful scorn. "It seems as if they cared for nothing but going on and on like quarrelsome children, and no good comes of it. No good can come of such an evil as war. And if you sell anything, here is all this wretched, worthless money! I had rather have good British gold."
"So Arnold thought." Primrose's mirth-loving eyes danced with a sense of retaliation. "There has been some French gold quite as good, since it has clothed our troops and given them many comforts. And, Aunt Lois, he is well and splendid, the picture of my own father, Aunt Wetherill thinks. He sent so much love, and if the war should end he will come home for good. He is not fond of battle, but you may know how good a soldier he has proved, since he has gone from private to major."
Aunt Lois looked up with tender, longing eyes. "Then I shall see him," she said. "He will not stay away?"