rkle of amusement. "I am fond of young people,
though they do many foolish things."

"But my sister?" he said suddenly. "We have forgotten about her. All
these years of thy kind care----"

"Well--what of her? I loved her mother. I never had a child of my own,
though a hen rarely runs after another hen's chicks. The little moppet
stole into my heart, and by just raising her eyes inveigled me into
fighting for her. Miss Primrose Henry has all the fortune it is good for
a girl to have, and she is a gay butterfly to go dancing about for the
next few years. Indeed, I believe she has quite made up her mind to stay
single, to have many admirers, but no husband. It may not be a good
plan, but there have been some famous old maids,--Queen Elizabeth, for
instance,--while poor Marie Stuart began with husbands early and lost
her head. We can dismiss Miss Primrose to her pleasures."

Then they talked long and earnestly. Andrew Henry was coming home, and
the matter would be settled.

And settled it was speedily. Andrew, having been consulted before, was
not so much taken by surprise, but his gratitude was none the less
fervent. And one Sunday morning Polly walked very proudly up the aisle
in Christ Church, with her brother on one side, and her lover on the
other, right behind her parents, and when they were seated in Mr.
Wharton's pew, Polly was in the middle with her lover beside her, and he
found the places in her prayer book and made responses with her and sang
joyfully in the hymns. Coming out she took his arm, and blushed a good
deal as people smiled at her. It was a fashion then, and everybody knew
it was a sign of engagement.

"The young Englishman is very good-looking," said Miss Morris, "but I
shall set my cap for the Quaker cousin. What a pity he gives up war and
discards soldier clothes, for there is scarcely such a fine-appearing
general!"

The young Quaker, mature and manly for his years, took hold of business
as if it had been his birthright. Perhaps it had come to him with the
resemblance to his uncle. And when Philemon Nevitt decided to take back
his father's name, Polly and Primrose rejoiced wildly.

Primrose threw her arms around his neck and gave him many of the kisses
she had used to be so chary about.

"Now you are my own dear brother!" she exclaimed, and the satisfaction
rang through her voice like a bell. "No king can ever claim you again."

"Unless _we_ have a king."

"But we are not going to have