"There isn't much for them to steal," said Meg, as she smoothed Tom's pillow. Tom looked up with a grateful smile.
"How did you know it wanted that?" he asked. "There's Amabel sighing to be a hospital nurse, but she never thinks of practicing on me."
"Oh, a scalded leg is so commonplace! Now if you had been wounded in battle, there would be some glory about it; but just to tip a hot kettle over yourself—"
"I guess it hurts about as much as if it were glorious," said Tom, thoughtfully. "I say, Meg, Amabel wants to be a Chevalier Bayard, she says."
"That's the very thing I want—'a knight without fear and without reproach.' Brave and blameless! I'll make it feminine, and call myself La Chevalière Bayarde; that's to be my name after this. Be sure you call me by it."
"You must win your spurs first," murmured Tom.
"Just wait till I get the chance. I should like to go about the world helping the distressed and afflicted. I tell you it's in me to be a heroine, or why should I look like one? Heroines don't have snub-noses and freckles: I beg your pardon, Meg!"
"Would you rather be a beauty,
Or do your duty?"
sang Tom, in that aggravating cracked voice of his. "Never mind, Meggums: if you're not a Chevalier Bayard, you make splendid waffles."
"And I'll go this minute and make some for tea," said Meg, brightening, as she sprang up. "They'll console us for the loss of Anastasia Ann."