"Six o'clock, morning," answered Porky.
"You know, mom, there's no chance of our getting hurt," said
Beany.
"How you do talk!" said Mrs. Potter. She did not look up, however. She was finishing the second sweater, and gave it her whole attention.
"Naw!" said Porky. "Not a chance in the world! We will be home before you know it, with a lot of good stories to tell you. Perhaps we will bring you some loot. Wouldn't you like something to remember the War by?"
"Just you look out for yourselves," said Mrs. Potter. "I'd like a couple of boys sent home safe and sound. That's what I'd like to remember things by." She stabbed the needles through her knitting and, rising, left the room. The boys looked after her. Beany made a move to follow, but his brother pushed him back.
"Let her alone," he said. "She likes to be brave."
That evening passed like lightning, although all the traps had been ready for days. Gladdis, the cook, had baked them a wonderful fruit cake, and Mr. Leffingwell came home with four new comfort kits and a portable typewriter for each one—a little typewriter that would go in one end of a suit-case.
Everybody seemed more than happy, quite noisy, in fact. There was not a moment when anybody felt the least bit—the least bit— well, you know! That is, not a moment except just at bedtime. Then Mrs. Potter came into the boys' room, and gave them each a little, thin package. She just handed it to them and kissed them goodnight, and went out.
"Let's see what they are," said Porky. There were two little leather cases. Inside were Mom Potter's pretty, motherly dear face, and pop's splendid, homely countenance. Porky jerked out the light.
The following morning, Mr. Leffingwell's car, crowded with the whole family, was the first to arrive at the station. The Potter boys wandered restlessly about until Colonel Bright, followed by his wife and daughter and a Japanese house-man loaded with rugs and bags, came breezing in with a hearty greeting for everybody.