"Because I am a girl, and a very young girl, no one appears to think I have common sense. I am as loyal to the King as any one. I wish grandmother would speak out. I believe she is a Whig. Uncle Neil said he would take me to some entertainments; he has not done so. I am not tired--that is just an excuse--I want to go out and I want to see Agnes. I will not give up Agnes--no one, no one shall make me--she is part of my heart! No, I will not give up Agnes; her father may be a saddler--and a Methodist--I am above noticing such things. I will love who I like--about my friends I will not yield an inch--I will not!" She was busy tatting to this quite unnecessary tirade of protestations and her grandmother noticed the passionate jerk of the shuttle emphasizing her thoughts. "What is vexing you, dearie?" she asked. "Oh, I am wretched about Agnes," she answered. "I am afraid grandfather has been rude in some way." "You needna be afraid on that ground, Maria; your grandfather is never rude where women are concerned." "But he is unkind. If he was not, there could be no objections to my calling on Agnes." "Is it not her place to call on you? She is at home--born and bred in New York--you are a stranger here. She is older than you are; she seems to have assumed some kind of care or oversight----." "She has been my guardian angel." "Then I think she ought to be looking after a desolate bairn like you; one would think you had neither kith nor kin near you, Maria." Madame spoke with an air of offense or injury, and as the words were uttered, the door was softly moved inward, and Agnes Bradley entered. She courtesied to Madame, and then stretched out her hands to Maria. The girl rose with a cry of joy, and all her discontent was gone in a moment. Madame could not forget so easily; in fact, her sense of unkindness was intensified by the unlooked-for entrance of its cause. But there was no escaping the influence of Agnes. She brought the very atmosphere of peace into the room with her. In ten minutes she was sitting between Madame and Maria, and both appeared to be alike happy in her society. She did not speak of the war, or the soldiers, or the frightful price of food and fuel, or the wicked extravagance of the Tory ladies in dress and entertainments, or even of the unendurable impudence of the negro slaves. She talked of Maria, and of the studies she ought to continue, and of Madame's flowers and needlework, and a sweet feeling of rest from all the fretful life around was insensibly diffused. In a short time Madame felt herself to be under the same spell as her granddaughter, and she looked at the charmer with curious interest; she wondered what kind of personality this daughter of tranquility possessed.