“How would it be to send Donald? Seems to me it might be a good vacation for him. He’s an able lad, and I know that he’d be glad to make the trip. He could ride almost as far as Lexington with Harry Henderson. Cousin Deborah would be glad to have him for overnight.”
“Dear me!” said Aunt Martha. “I can’t allow it.”
But in the end she yielded, and that evening Don heard the news with glee. “Your cousin is a nervous, exact kind of person,” his aunt told him, “and I want you to tell her everything that I say.”
“But what is it?” asked Don.
“Tell her that I am very sorry she has gone to any trouble on my account, but that I cannot with a clear conscience visit with her at this time. Say also that when your uncle promised for me he had not consulted me and therefore did not know all the facts.”
“She’ll want to know the facts,” said Don, grinning. “I’m kind of curious myself, Aunt Martha.”
“Donald!”
But Don’s grin was irresistible, and his aunt smiled. “Never mind,” she said. “And you’ll hurry home, won’t you?”
“I surely will, Aunt Martha.”
The next morning, the sixteenth of April, Don set out with Harry Henderson, a raw-boned young fellow with red hair and a short growth of red stubble on his face. The soldiers had just finished standing parade on the Common when Don and Harry rattled by in the cart; Harry’s light blue eyes narrowed as he watched them moving in little groups to their barracks.