"It seems strange," observed the other, meditatively, "that in a little place like this, on the very edge of the frontier, one girl can keep two men working hard all the time without half trying. On the face of it, there wouldn't seem to be enough to do."
"It requires talent," admitted Beatrice, modestly, "if not genius. Mr. Ronald!" she called.
The Ensign did not seem to hear. "Mr. Ronald!" she called again. There was no answer, though he must have heard.
"He's in the sulks," explained Beatrice, "and if he wants to stay there, he can."
"I wish you wouldn't do so, Bee," said Katherine, kindly.
"Do what?" demanded Beatrice, with her violet eyes wide open.
"You know what you're doing, and you needn't pretend that you don't."
There was a long silence, then Beatrice sighed heavily. "I think I'll move," she said. "I can go to Detroit, or Fort Mackinac, or back East."
Katherine's heart sank within her, for she knew she would miss the girl more than words could express. "You can't go," she said; "no one would go with you."
"I should hope not. Queen and I could make the trip alone. If I decide to go, why, I'll go—that's all there is about it, war or no war. I know where the pickets are and I could get through the lines without any trouble. If you miss me some morning, you'll know that I've made my escape to some peaceful spot where there is no lecturing."