"Miss Billy's a heap prettier with her hair short like that, and curling all over her head in little rings. She wasn't half so pretty when it was long."
"John Thomas," said Theodore, with a pitying stare, "it's my opinion that you would think Miss Billy handsome if she was as bald as a Chinese mandarin. It's a prominent symptom of the disease."
John Thomas returned abruptly to his popcorn, and Miss Billy, in the absence of anything better, and with a flash of the old time fire in her eyes, threw a handful of popcorn at the tormentor.
"Perhaps you would like to sample these cakes," said Margaret, standing floury and smiling in the doorway, with a plate in her hand. "Francis, it is less than six months ago that you and I sat in the mud of a side street in Cologne, while a rain of these lovely little cakes fell about our devoted heads. I little thought I should be making some for you at Christmas time."
"We cannot foretell the future," said Theodore solemnly. "Next Christmas—who knows?—we may all be in 'der faderland,' honourable attachees of the household of the Count and Countess Lindsay. Miss Billy can be 'lady in waiting,' and hold up your sky-blue green pink train, Margaret,—and John Thomas can be Buttons at the front door——"
"The last five months have certainly been an unexpected and pleasant experience for me," interrupted Francis. "But play time is over. I shall be off for New York Saturday."
"To stay—forever?" appealed Miss Billy piteously. "Oh, Francis,—I can't spare you."
There were tears in her eyes, and he took the small white hand between his own brown palms.
"Not forever, Miss Billy," he said gently. "I hope to come back again,—many times; and some of the goodness, and brightness, and helpfulness of Cherry Street shall always be with me, wherever I am."