"You're a queer girl, Hope, but I don't believe I blame you much. I was glad to leave this morning and head my horse this way."
"Did father—ask about me?" she inquired hesitatingly.
"He didn't lose any time in getting me off alone and questioning me for about an hour," he replied. "He misses you, Hope."
"Poor father—poor old Dad!" exclaimed the girl softly. Then with a peculiar motion of her head and shoulders, as if throwing off a load, she remarked firmly: "But that makes no difference. I am glad, anyway, to be here. I have you and Jim so near, and my dear little German girl—and perfect freedom!"
"And you have Livingston to take the place of O'Hara," he returned, "and there is nothing lacking, as far as I can see, except a good cook in the Harris family."
"Mr. Livingston is nothing to me," replied Hope quickly, "and he doesn't care anything for me, if that is what you mean to imply." Her eyes flashed and she spoke with unusual sharpness.
"We can't afford to quarrel, Hope," exclaimed Carter. Then, putting his hand upon her shoulder, said very earnestly: "I was just joking, and didn't mean to imply anything, so don't be angry with me. Besides, it won't do. It's near noon and I was going to suggest that we go over to camp and have William get us up a good dinner, and then we'll go fishing. What do you say? You can invite your breed brigade; they look hungry," pointing to the two boys sitting on the ground in the shade of a log barn, their knees drawn up under their chins.
"Oh, I don't mind what you say, Syd, dear," she said abruptly. "I believe I am getting to be quite as foolish as other people, to be offended so easily. I should as soon expect you to turn upon me in wrath if I told you to look out for little Louisa."
"Poor little Louisa," he exclaimed. "Where is she?"
"We went up the road for a walk, and Mr. Livingston drove along and took her up to see her Fritz's grave," she explained.