"Cherry sent me to get your tray, sir," the young man explained; "and she was so high-strung over my seeming hesitation that, after that, I stumbled upstairs as fast as I could."
"I see—chaffing each other as usual," said Mr. Erskine.
"Papa," Cherry put in, safely ensconced now behind her father and her work basket, "you must not believe one word these cadets say."
"These cadets!" Magnus retorted. "Please to be more personal in your remarks. I stand up for the veracity of the Corps."
"And represent it, no doubt."
"I wonder who is wandering into fib-land now," said Magnus. "Mr. Erskine, if you take her at her word, and never believe anything I say, I shall live to see the day when, with tears in her eyes, she will assure you of my perfect truth and reliability."
"Indeed you will not," said Cherry. "Unless you live to be a hundred and ten."
Mr. Erskine laughed heartily. Just so had those two been sparring ever since they were in leading strings; perfect inseparables, but never together ten minutes without getting up a skirmish of some kind.
"I am sorry this is one of your bad days, sir," Magnus went on; "but the sun is very bright, as you can see, sir, and the air is soft—you can feel that. I like to back up my words when I can. And perhaps you will kindly take hold of my arm, sir, and judge if it is likely to give way under the weight of your hand down the hill."
"All which means," said Mr. Erskine, "that I am expected by the dear people down there?"