“Yes,” answered Bob, in a shamefaced way. “She is a Yankee, and we were quarreling. I don’t know how it began. Do you?” to Jeanne.
“No,” answered Jeanne. “I don’t.”
“I am ashamed of myself,” said Bob, impulsively. “I ought to have remembered that you were my guest. If you will forgive me this time I won’t do it any more.”
“I was wrong too,” said Jeanne, humbly. “We’ll forgive each other.”
Bob hesitated a moment and then leaned toward her.
“There!” said the Colonel, as the girls kissed. “That’s better. Leave it to the men to settle the differences of the country. It is not pleasant to see girls quarrel. Introduce the little lady to me, Bob.”
“Jeanne, this is my father, Colonel Peyton,” said Bob. “Dad, this is Jeanne Vance, from New York city. And she is a brave girl, if she is a Yankee. You must get her to tell you all about her adventures.”
“I am sure that I shall be pleased to hear them,” said the Colonel, affecting not to notice Jeanne’s start of surprise as she heard his name. “Do you girls know that it is breakfast time?”
“Mercy!” cried Bob. “Have the drums beaten the call? I did not hear them. Did you ever! We’ve been two hours talking and–quarreling,” she added, in a lower tone.
“Yes; there was a time when I thought that it would be coffee and pistols for two,” laughed the father. “Come, let us have breakfast. I will hear the little lady’s story while we eat.”