e broods whose mothers had stolen their nests
and brought off their families in great triumph. One had thirteen, the
other eleven. Their mothers ran cheerfully to the coops and called their
progeny. When the families were within, Primrose took up the slatted
door and fastened it down with a stake and shut up the peeping things so
busy with their supper.

As she was loitering on the way back, she saw her uncle and cousin
Andrew talking eagerly. Did they know she was going away next week? She
ran forward and Andrew turned to her with a smile, while his father
talked on.

She clasped his hands in hers so warm and soft. His were brawny and
hard, but he was a great fellow and he looked down with a kindly,
protective air.

"Oh, do you know Aunt Wetherill has sent over, and----"

"Yes," slowly, "we knew it was time. Madam Wetherill does not forget
easily."

"Primrose!" called her aunt.

She hastened to the kitchen, rinsed out her dipper, and hung it up.
Uncle Henry was washing his hands and Chloe was taking up the hot bread
and dishing the stewed chicken. Oh, how delightfully appetizing the
fragrance was! And she was so glad not to have forfeited her right to
the supper.

"Come to the table," said Aunt Lois.

The four heads were bowed reverently. There was not much talking at meal
time. Aunt Lois was ever afraid of idle words and vain babbling. Uncle
James had a good, hearty appetite, as became his size and strength, and
generally occupied himself in ministering to it. Children in Quaker
households--indeed, in nearly all others--had the wise old adage dinned
into their ears that they were to be seen and not heard, and they also
understood that they were to be seen as little as possible.

When the supper was ended Primrose went out to the kitchen and dried the
teacups, of which Aunt Lois was quite choice, and the silver
heirlooms--the teaspoons her grandmother had brought from old England.

Friend Dunscomb was coming up the path. That meant an evening in the
best room with Uncle James and Aunt Lois. There were many agitating
subjects to talk about in these days. Primrose walked out of the kitchen
door and around the path, sending a long, dubious glance in the
direction of her new home.

Six months ago she had left it. How queer to be divided up in this way.
She had felt lonely at Wetherill House, and missed her mother sadly. To
be sure it was winter, and here on the farm it was glowing, golden
summer. She had not