'What word?'
'Quarrering.' And Nancy's tone was emphatic, though a doubt stole into her own mind as to whether her pronunciation was correct. But Teddy was too intent upon pulling something out of his pocket to notice her correction. He slowly unrolled a large white pocket-handkerchief, tied it carefully to a twig, which he broke off from an adjoining branch, and then held it up in front of her.
'I did it myself this morning,' he said with pride. 'I asked Uncle Jake for one of his best handkerchiefs. He gave it to me last night, and I did it with a pen and ink before breakfast. Can you read it?
Nancy looked at the straggling, uneven black letters that occupied the whole width across.
'Love?' she said curiously; 'what does that mean?'
'It's my banner of love that I'm going to carry for my Captain. It means
I've got to love even you.'
Nancy's red lips pouted. 'I don't want you to love me,' she said.
'I've got to do it.'
'How are you going to do it?'
'I'm—I'm not quite sure. I'm never going to be angry with you. And it's very hard—'