“I’m going on thirteen, Captain Bradstreet,” said Kirke, jealous for his own dignity.
The captain chuckled again, and wiped his sunburned face so hard that Kirke half looked for a crimson stain on the white pocket-handkerchief.
“Yes, yes, to be sure, you’ll overtake your father before long, Kirke. Hop Kee says your father’s not at home.”
“No; papa has gone to Mr. Gleason’s, Captain Bradstreet.”
“We’ve come, Pauline and I, to engage you and that big sister of yours to visit us at our camp when we’re settled in it. Pauline won’t sleep a wink till this thing’s arranged. Can we see your mother?”
Kirke set Donald down upon the floor, and hastened to the upper hall, where Molly was capering about in the wildest excitement.
“O mamma! did you hear what Captain Bradstreet said? Did you hear? He wants Kirke and me to make a visit at his camp—I never made a visit at a camp in my life!”
“Yes, mamma,” said Kirke, in the same low tone, “Captain Bradstreet wants to ask you if Molly and I can go. Came on purpose.”
“O mamma! you’ll say yes; won’t you?” begged Molly.
Mrs. Rowe was hastily laying aside her apron.