"Ah! you won't?" said his father, with a gesture to prevent his wife interrupting.
"Nor my little sister," said the young warrior, patronizingly, swelling with infantile importance.
"No; he won't let anybody make me ky," chimed in Evelyn, promptly accepting the proffered protection. "And he won't make me ky himself."
"But you mus'n't be a cry-baby," demanded Charlie.
"On my word, Ellen, the fellow has some of the old blood in him," said Major Stafford, laughing, much pleased. "Come here, my young knight." He drew the boy up to him and stood him before him. "I had rather have heard you say that than have won a brigadier's wreath. You shall have your breeches and your sword next Christmas if I live. Were I the king I should give you your spurs. Remember, never let any one make your mother or sister cry."
Charlie nodded in token of his acceptance of the condition.
"All right. But she mus'n't be a crybaby," he added with a glance down at Evelyn.