we all three stood before the fire till Philip returned.

"Ah," she said, "here is one who will never ask me to be ugly or
unpleasant."

"Who has been asking impossibilities, my dear?" inquired Philip,
taking her offered hand in his.

"These wise gentlemen think I oughtn't to be charming, now that I'm
married."

"Then they think you oughtn't to be yourself; and I disagree with 'em
entirely."

She gave him her other hand also, and stood for a short while looking
into his innocent, fond eyes.

"You dear old Phil!" she said slowly, in a low voice, falling for the
moment into a tender gravity, and her eyes having a more than wonted
softness. The next instant, recovering her light playfulness with a
little laugh, she took his arm and led the way to the dining-room.

And now came Spring--the Spring of 1775. There had been, of course,
for years past, and increasing daily in recent months, talk of the
disagreement between the king and the colonies. I have purposely
deferred mention of this subject, to the time when it was to fall upon
us in its full force so that no one could ignore it or avoid action
with regard to it. But I now reach the beginning of the drama which is
the matter of this history, and to which all I have written is
uneventful prologue. We young people of the Faringfield house (for I