"I want to plead with you for her, Mother. She has been the best friend I have had—except Philip: and she is but lent to me for a time. She was my brother Edward's nurse, and when he wants her again he will come and fetch her. I thought you not mind my bringing her with me."
"What should I mind, my dear? If you have found her a true and faithful waiting-woman, and love her, let her by all means abide with you and serve you. Such are not to be picked up everywhere."
"My dear," asked the Squire, uneasily, "I hope they have not made a Tory of you, Celia?"
"I don't know, really, Father," was the answer. "I scarce think there is much difference between Whigs and Tories. They all seem to me devoid of honesty."
The Squire looked horror-struck.
"Nobody has made a Papist of me, if that be any consolation to you. I return as true a Protestant as I went."
"Is this woman a Tory?" gasped the Squire.
"Patient? No, Father," replied Celia, smiling, "she is a little on the other side of you. She calls Oliver Cromwell 'His Highness the Lord Protector,' and won't allow that King Charles was a martyr."
"Celia, child, thou hast been in ill company!" solemnly pronounced the Squire.
"I was afraid you would think so. But I thought I was bound to obey my step-mother in all things not wrong"—