“And you’ll write to us, won’t you, Johnnie?” said Mary. “If you don’t, I shall think something is gone wrong with you.” He knew what she meant, and she knew he knew. “There are worse things than bullets, Johnnie.”
“Never you worry for me, Mrs. Ballard. We’re going down for business, and you won’t see me again until we’ve licked the ‘rebs.’” He held her hand awkwardly for a minute, then relieved the tension by carrying off the two baskets of apples. “I know the trees these came from,” he said, and soon a hundred boys in blue were eating Bertrand’s choicest apples.
“Here come the twins!” said some one, as Peter Junior and Richard Kildene came toward them across the sward. Betty ran to meet them and caught Richard by the hand. She loved to have him swing her in long leaps from the ground as he walked.
“See, Richard, I made this for you all myself––almost. I put C in the corner so it wouldn’t get mixed with the others, because this I made especially for you.”
“Did you? Why didn’t you put R in the corner if you meant it for me? I think you meant this for Charley Crabbe.”
“No, I didunt.” Betty spoke most emphatically. “Martha has one for him. I put C because––you’ll see when you open it. Everything’s bound all round with my very best cherry-colored hair ribbon, to make it very special, and that is what C is for. All the rest are brown, and this is prettier, and it won’t get mixed with Peter Junior’s.”
“Ah, yes. C is for cherry––Betty’s hair ribbon; and the gold-brown leather is for Betty’s hair. Is that it?”
“Yep.”
“Haven’t I one, too?” asked Peter Junior.