Uncle Win smiled and then looked grave. Doris carried off—oh, no, he could never spare her!
Cary Adams had not forgotten how to dance, and every girl he asked was delighted with the opportunity. It seemed rather queer to Doris to accept or decline on her own responsibility.
A week or two later, when they had settled to quite regular living, Cary came out and sat on the step one evening.
"Doris," he began, "do you remember the letter I sent you by a Lieutenant Hawthorne—that first letter——" What a flood of remembrances it brought!
"Oh, yes." She had begun to feel very much at home with Cary—his little sister, as he called her. "And I must tell you a queer thing—the day you came home—when I looked down the path—I thought of him. You had changed so. I don't know what sent him to my mind."
"That was odd. He is in town. He called on me to-day. For the last year he has been Captain Hawthorne, and he is a splendid fellow. He has been sent to the Charlestown Navy Yard, and may be here the next three months, for now the Government is considering a navy. Well—we did some splendid fighting with the old ships. But oh, Doris, you can't imagine how homesick I was. I had half a mind to show the white feather and come home."
"Oh, you couldn't have done it, Cary!"
"No, I couldn't when it came to the pinch. But if I had gone with father's consent! I understood then what it would be never to see him again. I think I shall be a better son all my life for the lesson."
"Yes," in her gentle approving fashion.
"Hawthorne wants to come over here," Cary said presently. "I think my father would like him, though I notice he has an aversion to military or naval men. But I shall never go away again unless the country is in great danger."