“No, really I am not—honestly not,” said Erminie.
“Then why not go with us?”
“Because, Elfie, I don’t like to leave my poor wounded boys in the hospitals. There are some of them that look for their ‘sister,’ as they call me, every day.”
“You make yourself a slave to those same boys,” crossly exclaimed Elfie.
“No, I don’t. I am free to go and come as I please. I can go and comfort them, or stay away and neglect them, as I like, but they are bond—wounded, fevered, weary of their beds, and utterly helpless, they must depend upon the pleasure or caprice of free, healthy people to come to see them. And there is the pity of it, Elfie.”
“I wish to goodness you would have a little pity on yourself,” grumbled Elfie.
Erminie smiled.
“There is not the slightest danger of any one of us failing in pity for ourselves, Elfie,” she said.
“Then give yourself a holiday once in a way, and go with us on our picnic excursion. Now, do—now, do, Minie—that’s a darling!”
“I would like to oblige you, Elfie dear, and I should not dislike the trip up the river this beautiful Indian summer weather, but I cannot go with you this time.”