"Next in prominence to the gun comes breakfast, I suppose," said Mr. Erskine.
"Yes, breakfast—slumgudgeon stew, and the rest of it," said Magnus. "But the bread and butter and milk are always good. They've taken to calling the roll after breakfast, as well as before, in case slumgudgeon should have laid some slain man under the table. Then comes a bit of release from quarters. If I've been fizzling lately, maybe I put in the time on French; but I am more apt to take a walk."
"That is well," said Mr. Erskine. "A brisk walk puts the brain in good order."
"It's not always a brisk walk, though," said Magnus. "Most often I go dawdling along with some girl."
And now Cherry was so still that only the swift-flying needle seemed to move. Mr. Erskine looked amused.
"I should think that a poor preparing for the section room," he said. "Can't be helped if it is," said Magnus. "There's such a lot of girls—and summer girls—about, it takes every minute you can get. Chappy comes up and says: 'Kin, just give my sister a walk, will you? Awfully nice girl, but if I don't bone a little I'll be found in French, sure guns. And besides, my best girl is here.' So I go. Then Miss Beguile says: 'Oh, Mr. Kindred! I've never seen Fort Putnam. Please take me!'"
How they both laugh at him—Cherry holding back a little, then letting her merry notes ring in.
"That sounds stringent," said Mr. Erskine. "Do you notice, love, his fine distinction between 'girls' and 'summer girls'? That is something we simple people know nothing of. By the way, I suppose you must be a summer girl—as he never sees you in the winter."
"If anyone ever dares call her a summer girl," said Mr. Kindred promptly, "I'll knock him down quicker than he ever had it done before."
"Hands off! I'll not call her so," said Mr. Erskine, laughing. "She is an everyday girl, and better each time. But Magnus, suppose your best girl happens to be also on hand?"