"That's true," said Stead. "Look you here, little maid--none can say
whether some of the rebel folk may find their way here, and they
don't like butterflies of your sort, you know. If you look a sober
little brown bee like Rusha here, they will take no notice, but who
knows what they might do it they found you in your bravery."

"Bravery," thought Patience, "filthy old rags, me seems," but she had
the prudence not to speak, and Emlyn nodded her head, saying, "I'll
do it for you, but not for her."

And when all was done, and she was transformed into a little russet-
robed, white-capped being, nothing would serve her, but to collect
all the brightest cranesbill flowers she could find, and stick them
in her own bodice and Rusha's.

Patience could not at all understand the instinct for bright colours,
but even little Ben shouted "Pretty, pretty."

Perhaps it was well that the delicate pink blossoms were soon faded
and crushed, and that twilight veiled their colours, for just as the
cattle were being foddered for the night, there was a gay step on the
narrow path, and with a start of terror, Patience beheld a tall
soldier, in tall hat, buff coat, and high boots before her; while
Growler made a horrible noise, but Toby danced in a rapture of
delight.

"Ha! little Patience, is't thou?"

"Jephthah," she cried, though the voice as well as the form were