“A spinning-wheel! What under the sun will you do with that?”
“Look at it,” was the strange reply, at which Millie shook her head and went off to her work.
“Are you going to carry flowers, and have a real wedding?” Philip asked his sister the day before the wedding.
“I don’t need any, with the whole outdoors a mass of bloom. If the pink moccasins were blooming I’d carry some.”
“Pink--with your red hair!” The boy exercised his brotherly prerogative of frankness.
“Yes, pink! Whose wedding is this? I’d carry pink moccasins and wear my red hair if they--if the two curdled! But I’ll have to find some other wild flowers.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll help you pick them.”
“Martin and I are going for them, thanks.”
“Oh, don’t mention it! I wouldn’t spoil that party!” He began whistling his old greeting whistle. He had forgotten it for several years but some chord of memory flashed it back to him at that moment.
At the sound of the old melody Amanda stepped closer to the boy. “Phil,” she said tenderly, “you make me awful mad sometimes but I like you a lot. I hope you’ll be as happy as I am some day.”