e," she said; "they did fall out of heaven in a swarm, and it
was like over at High Knob on the river bank, only a million times
higher, because they were so long falling. 'From morn till noon they
fell, from noon till dewy eve.'" Betty looked off into space with
half-closed eyes. She was seeing them fall. "It was a long time to be
in suspense, wasn't it, father?" Then every one laughed. Even mother
joined in. She was putting the last touches to the tea table.

"Mary, my dear, I think we'd better take a little supervision of the
child's reading--I do, really."

The gate at the end of the long path to the house clicked, and another
lad came swinging up the walk, slightly taller than Peter Junior, but
otherwise enough like him in appearance to be his own brother. He was
not as grave as Peter, but smiled as he hailed them, waving his cap
above his head. He also wore the blue uniform, and it was new.

"Hallo, Peter! You here?"

"Of course I'm here. I thought you were never coming."

"You did?"

Betty sprang from her father's lap and ran to meet him. She slipped
her hand in his and hopped along at his side. "Oh, Rich! Are you
going, too? I wish I were you."

He lifted the child to a level with his face and kissed her, then set
her on her feet again. "Never wish that, Betty. It would spoil a nice
little girl."

"I'm not such a nice little girl. I--I--love Satan--and they're going
to--to--supervise my reading." She clung to his hand and nodded her
head with finality. He swung her along, making her take long leaps as
they walked.

"You love Satan? I thought you loved me!"

"It's the same thing, Rich," said Peter Junior, with a grin.

Bertrand had gone to the kitchen door. "Mary, my love, here's Richard
Kildene." She entered the living room, carrying a plate of light, hot
biscuit, and hurried out to Richard, greeting him warmly--even
lovingly.

"Bertrand, won't you and the boys carry the table out to the garden?"
she suggested. "Open both doors and take it carefully. It will be
pleasanter here in the shade."

The young men sprang to do her bidding, and the small table was borne
out under the trees, the lads enumerating with joy the articles of
Mary Ballard's simple menu.

"Hot biscuits and honey! My golly! Won't we wish for this in about two
months from now?" said Richard.

"Cream and caraway cookies!" shouted Peter Junior, turning back to the
porch to help Bertrand carry the chairs. "Of course we'll be wishi