ther. Then Andrew
came up the path, and she flew out with such force that the milk
scattered on the ground, and he had to steady himself.

"Primrose----"

"She said thou didst not like me, and that I am no relation. What didst
thou say down in the orchard? And if no one likes me why can I not go
back to Aunt Wetherill?"

The usually gay voice was full of anger, just as he had heard it before.
Truly the child had a temper, for all her sweetness.

"Children--wait until I carry in the milk, and then I will come out and
hear thee."

Chloe took the pail and Penn followed with his.

Andrew came out, and looked at the girls with grave amusement. Primrose
was the most spirited. Really, was he being caught with the world's
snare, beauty?

"She said you--you did not like me." Primrose's lip quivered in an
appealing fashion, and her bosom swelled with renewed indignation.

"I did not say that," interposed Faith. "Not _just_ that. It was about
vain and frivolous world's people, and Chloe said she was not a Quaker
any more, and I--how canst thou like her, Cousin Andrew?"

"Children, there must be no quarreling. There are many families where
there are friends and members of various beliefs. And if we cannot love
one another, how shall we love God?"

Faith made a sudden dart to Andrew and caught his hand.

"Thou art not her cousin, truly," she exclaimed with triumph.

"As much as I am thine. Our mothers were sisters. Primrose's father and
mine were brothers. That is why our names are alike. And if you are good
I shall like you both, but I cannot like naughty children."

"You see!" Primrose said in high disdain to her crestfallen compeer. "I
was right. If Uncle James had not been my uncle I should not have had to
come here. And I should not care for Andrew."

There was something superb in the defiance visible in every feature and
the proud poise of the shoulders. A woman grown could hardly have done
better. Andrew Henry was curiously amused, and not a little puzzled as
to how he should restore peace between them. Faith's face had settled
into sullen lines.

"I shall love best whichever one is best and readiest in obedience and
kindliness," he said slowly.

"I do not care." Primrose turned away with the air of a small queen. "I
shall go back to town and you may have Faith and--and everybody." But
the voice which began so resolutely in her renunciation broke and ended
with a sob.

"Oh, my dear child!" Andrew's arm w