“Who do you suppose is here?”
“I don’t know and don’t care,” I said indifferently; “I know I am here with both feet. Wasn’t that a fine swim? Shoot away, Jot; let me know the worst!”
“Miss Rich and her father and Emily Grant!”
“My!” I cried, springing up. “Where is Emily,—Miss Grant, I mean?—and Miss Rich.”
“She is here at this hotel,” he replied, “and you had better hurry up and get down to the reception room; for she has got a half dozen lieutenants and captains in tow already.”
That hurried me! I dressed and went to meet these people from home.
It was like a breath from my native hills. It was, as Jot said, “as though they had just stepped out from New England,” bringing with them all its homely sweetness; and—Emily Grant was more beautiful than ever. My heart was full: it was a moment worth living for to meet them amid such beautiful surroundings.
That afternoon we, Miss Grant, Miss Rich, Jot and I, took a trolley ride down the coast. Fifteen miles of beautiful roads mostly cut into the sides of the cliffs, which ran up and up and up, and on the terraces of which were magnificent gardens with vines and olive trees and flowers, above the white stone. With such company it was all too entrancing for words!
Doctor Rich was interested in scientific inquiries connected with his profession, and was glad to have us take the girls off his hands. Such good times as we had, swimming and boating, and on the cliffs! Such a contrast was it to the squalid trenches.
Jot had evidently told Miss Emily about my gaining the Croix de Guerre, for she asked me about it. We were far upon the cliff looking down on town and sea, and at her request I took it out of a case where I had enshrined it, and showed it to her.