"The best way will be to put all that you can in the closet of your play-room, and give Uncle Robert the key. Lock all your drawers as well."
One would have fancied that Rob was going to Europe, to say the very least. After he had tumbled the articles in and out about twenty times, he concluded that he would go down to the stable to see about some trifle.
So his mother soon had the trunk in order, though she quietly restored half the "traps" to their place in the play-room, and I doubt if Rob ever missed them.
Saturday was another very busy time with him. He had to take a farewell glimpse of Camp Schuyler, to visit hosts of the boys, to take a last row, a last ride, a last game of ball, and one might have imagined from all these preparations that he was about to enter a dungeon and leave the cheerful ways of life behind.
But Rob was beginning to have quite serious moods occasionally; and the last Sunday at home was one of them. He did not feel nor understand the transition state as keenly as Kathie, he was such a thorough, careless, rollicking boy. He would play until the last gasp,—"until whiskers began to sprout," he said,—and he would make one of the men to whom recollections of boyish fun would always be sweet.
The sermon in the morning touched him a little, and then the talk with Charlie Darrell. The Darrells felt very badly over the present loss of their dear friend; and Kathie just pressed Miss Jessie's fingers, but spoke no word.
"I do mean to try," Rob said, that evening, to Kathie. "It seems almost as if I were really going to war, as well as the rest of them."
"Yes," she answered, gravely; "you will find enough fighting to do,—foes without and within."
"I have learned some things, though,"—with a confident nod,—"and I shall never forget about the giants. What odd times we have had, Kathie, from first to last!"
"I wonder if you will be homesick?"