gland
should start the war afresh on any pretext.

Certainly the afternoon was beautiful. People were beginning with
gardens, and climbing roses were showing green stems. And the tall box
alleys were full of new sprouts, betraying a great contrast to the deep
green that had withstood the frosts of many winters.

There was a ferry over Dock Creek; indeed, there were but few bridges,
but being ferried over was more to their taste. Then they walked up
Society Hill, where some fine, substantial houses were being put up.
There were the city squares, and, far over, a great ragged waste, with
tree stumps everywhere.

"That is what you did in Howe's winter--cut down all the beautiful
woods--Governor's woods," Primrose said resentfully. "There are traces
of you everywhere. It will take years and years for us to forget it or
remedy it."

"But do you not suppose the soldiers around Valley Forge cut down the
woods as well? You would not have them freeze. And the poor men here
wanted a little warmth," said Phil.

"There was plenty of waste land where you could have gone," in her
severest tone.

"I thought myself there were many acts of vandalism," commented Vane.
"But I believe it is the rule of warfare to damage your enemy all you
can. Think of the magnificent cities the old Greeks and Romans destroyed
utterly."

"They were half savages, idolaters, believing in all sorts of gods. And
you pretended to be Christians!"

"You were so sweet a moment ago, Primrose," said her brother.

"Unalloyed sweetness is cloying. You need salt and spice as well. And I
always feel afraid I shall forgive you too easily when I look at those
poor stumps and pass the jail."

"You can remember all one's sins easily," Phil retorted rather
gloomily.

"And one's virtues, too, behind one's back. Never fear her loyalty, Mr.
Nevitt." Phil had insisted everyone should drop his military cognomen.
"You should have heard her solicitude when no word came from you, and
was there not some joy in her face when you appeared that could not have
put itself into words?" cried Allin Wharton eagerly, for he always
resented the least suspicion of a non-perfection in Primrose.

"Now I will cross thee off my books," blushing and trying to look stern.
"Allin Wharton! To betray a friend in that manner!"

"To recount her virtues," and Betty Mason laughed over to the pretty
child. "She has a right to be like an April day."

"And I found this pretty conceit in some