“I think so. Oh, there wasn’t anything definite between her and Pete—nothing, at least, that they told the rest of us. But a fellow who had eyes—” He left the sentence unfinished and walked over to Elliott’s chair. “You know, I told you,” he said, “that I shouldn’t go into this war unless I was called. Of course I’m registered now, but whether or not they call me—if Pete is out of it—and I can possibly manage it, I’m going in.”
A queer little pain contracted Elliott’s heart. And then that odd heart of hers began to swell and swell until she thought it would burst. She looked at the boy, with proud eyes. It didn’t occur to her to wonder what she was proud of. Bruce Fearing was no kin of hers, you know.
“I knew you would.” Somehow it 253 seemed to the girl that she could always tell what Bruce Fearing was going to do, and that there was nothing strange in such knowledge. How strong he was! how splendid and understanding and fine! “Oh,” she cried, “I wish, how I wish I could help you!”
“You do help me,” he said.
“I?” Her eyes lifted in real surprise. “How can I?”
“By being you.”
His hand had only to move an inch to touch hers, but it lay motionless. His eyes, gray and steady and clear, held the girl’s. She gave him back look for look.
“I am glad,” she said softly and her face was like a flower.
Bruce was out of the house before Elliott thought of the thing she could do for him.
“Mercy me!” she cried. “You’re the slowest person I’ve ever seen in my life, Elliott Cameron!” She ran to the kitchen 254 door, but the boy was nowhere in sight. “He must be out at the barn,” she said and took a step in that direction, only to take it back. “No, I won’t. I’ll just go by myself and do it.”