One-Eye divined what was going forward. He got up uneasily. "Dang it, if I ain't sorry I'm goin' West so soon again!" he fretted. "But I'll tote y' back with me some day, sonny—see if I don't! Also, I'll peek in oncet 'r twicet afore I go—that is, if my lamp gits better."
"All right," said Johnnie again. He had but one idea now: to get every one safely away. So he was not sad.
"You—you can have my room now," Cis went on, swallowing, and trying to smile.
"Thank y'."
They shook hands, then, both a little awkwardly. Next, she bent to kiss him. Boylike, he was not eager for that, with Father Pat and Mr. Perkins looking on. So he backed away deprecatingly, and she succeeded only in touching her lips to a tuft of his bright hair. But at once, forgetting manly pride, he wound his arms about her, and laid his hurt cheek against her shoulder; and she patted his sore back gently, and dropped a tear or two among the tangles brushing her face.
When he drew away from her, he saw that neither Father Pat nor Mr. Perkins were watching them. The former had a hand across his eyes (was he praying, or just being polite?); while the scoutmaster, hands behind him, and chin in air, was staring out of the window.
"I'm ready, Algy,"—Cis tried to say it as casually as if she were going only to the corner. She joined Father Pat and One-Eye at the door.
Now it was Mr. Perkins's turn. He came over and held out a hand. "Well, John Blake," he said (he had never used "John" before), "you'll be in our thoughts every hour of the day—you, and Grandpa. You know you're not losing a sister; you're gaining a brother."
They shook hands then, as men should. But a moment later, by an impulse that was mutual, each put his arms about the other in a quick embrace.
"My little brother!"