arrel, and you didn't say that word right'

'What word?'

'Quarrering.' And Nancy's tone was emphatic, though a doubt stole into
her own mind as to whether her pronunciation was correct. But Teddy was
too intent upon pulling something out of his pocket to notice her
correction. He slowly unrolled a large white pocket-handkerchief, tied it
carefully to a twig, which he broke off from an adjoining branch, and
then held it up in front of her.

'I did it myself this morning,' he said with pride. 'I asked Uncle Jake
for one of his best handkerchiefs. He gave it to me last night, and I did
it with a pen and ink before breakfast. Can you read it?

Nancy looked at the straggling, uneven black letters that occupied the
whole width across.

'Love?' she said curiously; 'what does that mean?'

'It's my banner of love that I'm going to carry for my Captain. It means
I've got to love even you.'

Nancy's red lips pouted. 'I don't want you to love me,' she said.

'I've got to do it.'

'How are you going to do it?'

'I'm--I'm not quite sure. I'm never going to be angry with you. And it's
very hard--'

Here a deep-drawn sigh broke from him. 'It's _very_ hard, but I've got to
tell you I'm sorry I wouldn't let you cross the bridge first, and I'm
sorry I said I hated you in church.'

Nancy's bright dark eyes peered inquisitively into the dreamy blue ones
opposite her.

'Are you really sorry?' she said.

'I think I am, at least part of me is; my enemy isn't, but I am.'

This was beyond Nancy's comprehension.

'And you'll never get angry, or set those horrid boys at me any more?'

'No, I never will.'

Here a big rosy-cheeked apple was produced hastily out of the other
pocket, and presented as a peace offering.

It was taken in silence; then as Nancy's white little teeth met in it she
said, with one of her beaming smiles, 'And have I got to love you?'

'I think you had better, because it will make it easier.'

'Well, I will then, if you'll do one thing.'

'What is it?'

'Give me that old button of yours.'

Teddy fairly gasped at this audacity.

'Give you father's button!' he cried; 'never, never, never! I'd rather be
shot dead, or drownded dead, or hung dead, or chopped into little tiny
bits! I'll _never_ give it up! It's going to be on my coats and
waistcoats till I'm a hundred, and then it will be buried in my grave
with me. Suppose I lost my button, do you know what I would do?'

Nancy gazed at the young or