He found her in a recess out of the way of the rushing and romping, busy with her work, yet evidently glad to be amused.
"I admire your adherence to principle, Miss Belle; but don't you find it a little hard to sit still while your friends are enjoying themselves?" he asked, sinking luxuriously into the lounging chair beside her.
"Yes, very," answered Belle with characteristic candor. "But father does not approve of that sort of exercise, so I console myself with something useful till my chance comes."
"Your work can't exactly be called ornamental," said Lennox, looking at the big sock.
"Don't laugh at it, sir; it is for the foot of the brave fellow who is going to fight for me and his country."
"Happy fellow! May I ask who he is?" and Lennox sat up with an air of interest.
"My substitute: I don't know his name, for father has not got him yet; but I'm making socks, and towels, and a comfort-bag for him, so that when found he may be off at once."
"You really mean it?" cried Lennox.
"Of course I do; I can't go myself, but I can buy a pair of strong arms to fight for me, and I intend to do it. I only hope he'll have the right sort of courage, and be a credit to me."
"What do you call the right sort of courage?" asked Lennox, soberly.