d those pestilent Puritans who have
been ever stirring up strife, and a few foolish men easily turned with
every wind that blows. Good Lord, what an army to cope with trained
men!"

"These same brawlers have done England some good service against the
French. They have fighting blood, and when it is roused on the side of
right will be a match for the redcoats at Champlain."

Some of the women were gathered in the hall where there was tea and
cakes, or mead if one liked better.

"But, if there is war, we shall not be able to get anything," said vain
and pretty Madam Jeffries, who was a second wife, and strong of will as
her husband seemed, twisted him around her finger. "And I have just sent
abroad for finery."

"We must come to linsey-woolsey, though the weavers of Germantown make
fine goods, and there is silk already made in our own town. Instead of
so much gossiping and sitting with idle hands we must make our own
laces. It is taught largely, I hear, at Boston, and my mother was an
expert at it. Then there are fringes and loops--and, oh, I think we
shall manage."

"But will there really be war?--Madam Wetherill, it will begin in the
room there," laughing and nodding her head. "They will come to blows
soon. And Hugh Mifflin, methinks, has forgotten his Quaker blood. How
well he talks! And hear--he quotes from the Farmers' letters. I thought
the Friends were resolved not to bear arms."

"Do they always turn the other cheek to the smiter?" asked someone, and
a laugh followed.

In the upper hall Primrose stood by the end window, listening and
wondering. Patty found her there, large-eyed.

"What will there be war about?" she asked. "And will they come here and
take us all prisoners?"

"Nonsense, child! This is no talk for thee. Come to bed at once."

"Patty, did you hear my great-aunt say if I was to go out to the farm?
What if they make Cousin Andrew fight? I should be so sorry."

"Quakers do not fight."

"But brave men do. I have read about them. And I am sure Andrew is
brave."

"Do not be sure of any man. Thou wilt get a sight of wisdom between this
and twenty years. And I believe thou art not to go out to Cherry Hill.
There is too much illness. And we are to move to our own farm."

"And will there be chickens and birds and squirrels, and little lambs
playing about, and----"

"Do not string any more things together with an 'and,' like beads on a
chain, but get to bed. Yes, they seem to be having a fin