"Take Cherry!" he repeated. "My baby! It is Cherry you want to take to San Carlos?"
"It may not be San Carlos, sir. Of course, I must take her wherever I go."
"Well, you need not get up before gunfire to bone assurance," said Mr. Erskine. "My Cherry! And what do you suppose she will say to this brilliant plan for her happiness?"
"I do not think she much cares where we go, sir," Magnus answered, with easy confidence.
It was an indescribable pang that shot through the father's heart. His one treasure, his pearl of all the world, already did not "much care" where she went, so long as she could be with this youngster—put her hand in his, and go!
"It may happen that I shall care," he said huskily. "What makes you think I will give her up to go anywhere?"
"But you can go, too, you know, sir," Cadet Kindred answered, with that same calm tone which ignores the hard and cuts through the impossible. "We have talked about it a great deal."
"It strikes me that a little of the talking should have come to me."
"Yes, sir; but then you are so seldom alone—always reading or something on hand—it was hard to find a chance. And then you were sick. And I thought you must see for yourself. And then, if you didn't, it was such fun to puzzle you," Magnus said honestly.
"So seldom alone," Mr. Erskine repeated rather bitterly. "I suppose it will be often enough in the future. No, do not say another word to me now. Take yourself off, young man, and get out of my sight, and give me a chance to draw my breath. My Cherry!"