“Oh, Betty, Betty,” he cried, as he nestled against her, “it seems almost too good to be true! Only it must come true, mustn’t it, Christmas Day?”
“’Course it must,” agreed Betty stoutly; “why, didn’t the Herr Doctor tell you it would come true, this very day?”
“Yes,” breathed Max softly.
“And there’s nothing in the world, the Herr Doctor doesn’t know,” declared Betty; “and I love him.”
“So do I,” cried Max; “almost as much as Grandpapa Franzchen!” For by that name, born of affection, was the august Emperor of Austria-Hungary known to his grandchildren.
“Betty,” the boy cried abruptly, “the very first race we’ll run will be from there,” pointing to the “Gloriette,” shining like a jewel in the sunrise light,—“straight to the edge of the lily pond. And—and—I’ll beat you, you little girl!”
“Can’t!” answered Betty, stretching out her slim straight legs, and looking at them with confidence.
“Can!” Max cried delightedly. And then they both laughed, and cuddled together more closely.
“Do you remember,” Max went on, “that boy we watched, in the rose garden, running races with his dog, one day last summer? The boy with a violin under his arm?”
Yes, Betty remembered.