“I should love to see him,” said Gretel. “Has he the time to spare?”
“Yes, Miss, and he’s crazy to see you, and say good-bye. He thinks the regiment may be sent over very soon.”
“I’ll come right down,” said Gretel, good-naturedly, and three minutes later, she was shaking hands with a tall, red-haired youth in the uniform of a United States Private.
“I am so glad you waited to see me,” she said. “Why, Peter, how fine you look, and how you have grown!”
In his pleasure and embarrassment, Peter blushed until his cheeks were as red as his hair. He stammered out something about hoping he hadn’t been too bold, and shook Gretel’s hand as if it were a pump-handle.
“Bold!” cried Gretel, indignantly; “what nonsense! I should never have forgiven you if you had gone away without bidding me good-bye. Why, Peter, think what old friends we are. Do you remember the cream puffs, and how you recognized me the day I was run over?”
Peter grinned.
“That was a good while ago,” he said. “I was a kid then.”
“You are not so very old yet,” said Gretel, and there was a tremor in her voice. “Oh, Peter, I am sorry you are going. Of course I am proud of you for wanting to, but——”
“I’m all right,” interrupted Peter, gruffly, but blushing more than ever. “All the fellows are crazy to go. A lot of them got turned down, but they accepted me because of my size. Don’t you worry, Miss Gretel, or Dora either. We’ll come back all right, and if we don’t lick them Germans before the year’s out, my name’s not Peter Grubb.”