The friction between the mother country and grave
questions coming to the fore; the following out of Mr. Penn's plans for
the improvement of the city, the bridging of creeks and the filling up
of streets, for there was much marsh land; the building of docks for the
trade that was rapidly enlarging, and the public spirit that was
beginning to animate the staid citizens.

Philemon Henry called his babe little one, child, and daughter, and the
mother was too wise to flaunt the name in his face. She had great faith
in the future.

"For if you keep stirring your rising continually, you will have no good
bread," she said. "Many things are best left alone, until the right
time."

She dressed the child quaintly, and she grew sweeter every day. But they
talked about the son they were to have, and other daughters. Little Phil
wrote occasionally. He was studying in an English school, but he had
spells of homesickness now and then, and his uncle said if he learned
smartly he should take a voyage to America when he was older. Nevitt
Grange was a great, beautiful place with a castle and a church and
peasants working in the fields. And he was to go up to London to see the
king.

One damp, drizzling November night Philemon Henry came home with so
severe a cold that he could hardly speak. He had been on the dock all
day, supervising the unloading of a vessel of choice goods. He could eat
no supper. Bessy made him a brew of choice herbs and had him hold his
feet in hot water while she covered him with a blanket and made a steam
by pouring some medicaments on a hot brick. Then he was bundled up in
bed, but all night long he was restless, muttering and tumbling about.
He would get up in the morning, but before he was dressed he fell across
the bed like a log, and Bessy in great fright summoned the doctor.

He had never been ill before, and for a few days no one dreamed of
danger. Then his brother James was summoned, and his clerk from the
warehouse, and there were grave consultations. Bessy's buoyant nature
could not at first take in the seriousness of the case. Of course he
would recover. He was so large and strong, and not an old man.

Alas! In a brief fortnight Philemon Henry lay dead in the house, and
Bessy was so stunned that she, too, seemed half bereft of life. She had
loved him sincerely, and for months they had forgotten their unfortunate
difference over the child's name. And when he was laid in the burying
ground beside hi