"Let's name him something to remind us of our own men over in France," suggested Marian vaguely, her mind still filled with the recent departures for the front.
"Call him American Expeditionary Force," laughed Julia. "He won't come when he's called, so a long name does just as well."
"You two think of a nice one," said Lucy, getting up from the floor, "while I do my telephoning and speak to Elizabeth. Then we're going to develop some pictures, Julia, and you can help. William will take care of,—you name him now."
With the help of Julia's lively company the morning was not very long in passing. By the time Lucy's tasks were done and the roll of films had been developed, dried, and printed in the sun on the piazza steps, her spirits had recovered their usual brightness, and whatever lack of real cheer lay beneath she managed to keep to herself.
By luncheon time William had become so attached to the puppy, who was still unchristened, with a choice of about twenty names of all sorts offered him, that Julia went home without him, leaving William beaming with delight.
"He may have some milk right on the table by my plate, mayn't he, Lucy?" he suggested, carrying the new pet into the dining-room with him.
"No, he may not," said Lucy decidedly. "But he may have it on the floor while you eat. I'm a sight!" she added, looking frowningly at her dress as she tucked back a wisp of hair. "I never noticed how awfully I looked after all that work, but it's too late to change now."
Lucy was feeling heavy-hearted again, at sight of the empty places at the table, and did not care much about eating. She had a funny moment though when Marian, noticing how indifferent she seemed to the good food before her, said coaxingly, "Go on and eat, Lucy, won't you? You'll feel much better if you do."