There was one in St. Louis that Lawrence could not fail to visit, and that was Lola Laselle, the girl who had taken his part on the steamboat, when a forlorn, dirty, homeless boy, and who had chosen him for her knight-errant when he went into the army.
Of all the young people Lawrence had associated with before the war, Lola was one of the few who had remained faithful to the old flag, and by so doing had been mercilessly cut by her young companions. But one day Lola hid Randolph Hamilton to keep him from being arrested as a spy, and this somewhat restored her to favor, especially with the Randolph family.
No sooner did Lola see Lawrence than she ran toward him with outstretched hands, crying, "Lawrence, Lawrence, is this indeed you? How glad I am to see you! And how you have grown! Why, you are a man!"
"And I am afraid I have lost my little girl," said Lawrence, as he took her hand, and gallantly raised it to his lips. "You have grown to almost a young lady."
"I don't know whether I like it or not," said Lola. "I sometimes think I had rather remain a little girl."
"I believe I am of your opinion," replied Lawrence, looking at her admiringly.
"Why, am I growing homely?" pouted Lola.
"That's not it. If you were still a little girl, I—I might have been permitted to kiss your cheek, instead of just your hand. Remember——"
"Stop! You mean thing!" commanded Lola, blushing furiously.
Lawrence gazed on her with admiration. She was certainly budding into a most beautiful girl.