e had
been staying patiently during the long, warm hours, and sat at her
father's feet on the edge of the porch, where apparently she was
wholly occupied in tracing patterns with her bare toes in the sand of
the path. Now and then she ran out to the Harvest apple tree and back,
her golden head darting among the green shrubbery like a sunbeam. She
wished to do her full duty by the bees and the baby, and at the same
time hear all the talk of the older ones, and watch the fascinating
young soldier in his new uniform.

As bright as the sunbeam, and as silent, she watched and listened. Her
heart beat fast with excitement, as it often did these days, when she
heard them talk of the war and the men who went away, perhaps never to
return, or to return with great glory. Now here was Peter Junior
going. He already had his beautiful new uniform, and he would march
and drill and carry a gun, and halt and present arms, along with the
older men she had seen in the great camp out on the high bluffs which
overlooked the wide, sweeping, rushing, willful Wisconsin River.

Oh, if she were only a man and as old as Peter Junior, she would go
with him; but it was very grand to know him even. Why was she a girl?
If God had only asked her which she would rather be when he had made
her out of dust, she would have told him to make her a man, so she
might be a soldier. It was not fair. There was Bobby; he would be a
man some day, and he could ride on a large black horse like the
knights of old, and go to wars, and rescue people, and do deeds of
arms. What deeds of arms were, she little knew, but it was something
very strong and wonderful that only knights and soldiers did.

Betty heaved a deep sigh, and put out her hand and softly touched
Peter Junior's trousers. He thought it was the kitten purring about.
No, God had not treated her fairly. Now she must grow up and be only a
woman, and wash dishes, and sweep and dust, and get very tired, and
wear dresses--and oh, dear! But then perhaps God had to do that way,
for if he had given everybody a choice, everybody would choose to be
men, and there would be no women to mind the home and take care of the
little children, and it would be a very sad kind of world, as she had
often heard her father say. Perhaps God had to do with them as Peter
Junior had done with his mother when he enlisted first and asked her
consent afterwards; just make them girls, and then try to convince
them afterwards that it wa