Louisa nodded. “All right; I’ll remember.”
Alison, with woebegone face, stood by as Louisa tied up her bundle. “I hope you won’t have need to run away,” she said. “But, oh, Lou, I do hate to see you go.”
“I’ve learned ye a good bit,” said Louisa. “You can make pretty near as good biscuits as I can and your flapjacks are hard to beat.”
“Oh, it isn’t your cooking we shall miss so much as your nice cheerful self,” Alison assured her.
“Now, ain’t that the truth?” said Ira. “If this confounded war was over I’d—but, sho! I reckon ye’ll git along all right. Cyrus may be an ole fox but he ain’t no wildcat.”
“We’ll come over to see you,” said Christine, who had joined the others to see Louisa off.
“Yes, we will that,” added Ira, “even if your dad ain’t so very hearty in his invitations,” for Cyrus spoke no word.
“Ef Cy Sparks thinks he is going to keep the boys away from a likely gal like that he’s mightily mistaken,” said Bud as the wagon drove away. “There ain’t a boy around here that wouldn’t be glad to see that red head a-firin’ up his kitchen.”
“You bet,” Ira agreed heartily. “I reckon we’d better be off, too, Bud. Ain’t hed no word from John, gals?”
“No, not yet.”