started a voice, moved--half-laughing.
“We’re out to make a showing for the U. S. A.
There’s going to be a hot time before us this day,
But still we’ll make our showing ...”
The protest was triumphantly completed by the fresh breeze booming up the vegetables.
Two hours later a tired girl, with slight lines of weariness under her dark eyes, stole into the tent upon the white beach, flanking the mother-bungalow, which was, at present, hers and Sara’s.
She did not turn to her own corner, but to her friend’s, where was pinned to the translucent canvas a framed photograph, with a Service Star above it.
“Iver!” whispered Olive Deering, tremulously--and again the Maid’s look was on her face--“I’m trying to be worthy of you--of all our Boys--of our talk on that twilight balcony! I’m ‘holding the line!’ I’m carrying on!”