ng
for this before long, but that's part of soldiering."

"We're not looking forward to a well-fed, easy time of it, so we'll
just make the best of this to-night, and eat everything in sight,"
said Richard.

Bertrand preferred to change the subject. "This is some of our new
white clover honey," he said. "I took it from that hive over there
last evening, and they've been working all day as if they had had new
life given them. All bees want is a lot of empty space for storing
honey."

Richard followed Mrs. Ballard into the kitchen for the tea. "Where are
the other children?" he asked.

"Martha and Jamie are spending a week with my mother and father. They
love to go there, and mother--and father, also, seem never to have
enough of them. Baby is still asleep, and I must waken him, too, or
he won't sleep to-night. I hung a pail of milk over the spring to keep
it cool, and the butter is there also--and the Dutch cheese in a tin
box. Can you--wait, I'd better go with you. We'll leave the tea to
steep a minute."

They passed through the house and down toward the spring house under
the maple and basswood trees at the back, walking between rows of
currant bushes where the fruit hung red.

"I hate to leave all this--maybe forever," said the boy. The corners
of his mouth drooped a little, and he looked down at Mary Ballard with
a tender glint in his deep blue eyes. His eyes were as blue as the
lake on a summer's evening, and they were shaded by heavy dark brown
lashes, almost black. His brows and hair were the same deep brown.
Peter Junior's were a shade lighter, and his hair more curling. It was
often a matter of discussion in the village as to which of the boys
was the handsomer. That they were both fine-looking lads was always
conceded.

Mary Ballard turned toward him impulsively. "Why did you do this,
Richard? Why? I can't feel that this fever for war is right. It is
terrible. We are losing the best blood in the land in a wicked war."
She took his two hands in hers, and her eyes filled. "When we first
came here, your mother was my dearest friend. You never knew her, but
I loved her--and her loss was much to me. Richard, why didn't you
consult us?"

"I hadn't any one but you and your husband to care. Oh, Aunt Hester
loves me, of course, and is awfully good to me--but the Elder--I
always feel somehow as if he expects me to go to the bad. He never had
any use for my father, I guess. Was my father--was--he no good? Don'