Carlos, also, peered into the dimness behind and nudged her. A creeping, awkward figure was following them, in a shame-faced way, as if unwilling to acknowledge his own mistaken statements—honest Dennis, very much alive!
“Poor fellow! He was really sick and feverish, terribly tired, and homesick for even such a place as Leopard or Tuttle—any spot where there were ‘Christian roofs’ and white-skinned people. As Paula called him, he’s but a grown up baby, after all. You mustn’t laugh at him, brother dear, when he comes up with us, nor act as if you remembered a bit of his foolishness. Promise.”
“All right, Carlota. I don’t promise—, but I’ll take care.”
So they went gayly on again, and it was the sound of their happy voices which brought mother and sons running down the slope from Camp Burnham to meet them. Letitia and Carlota clasped and reclasped one another, half-laughing, half-crying, and at first, too deeply moved for speech. But grave little Teddy neither laughed nor cried. He merely observed:
“Muvver, she did find the piece of my ap’on what I tored. She has got it in her jacket. Now you can mend it.”
Then Carlota turned about and saw him standing, arms akimbo, in all the dignity of his first, rough little “camping-twousers,” calm and unruffled, as if being lost and found again were but an ordinary incident of the day.
“You darling! Have you missed me? Missed your ‘new sister,’ Carlota?”
“Nope.”
“O, Teddy! Why haven’t you?”
“Been a-fishin’. Catched a fish an’ cooked him. Teddy’s hungwy. Come to supper.”