"Yes--do you know him? He lives in a big white house with wistaria
on the side," Caroline cried joyfully.
"I was a senior when he was a freshman," said Peter. "Then he's
taken the Washburn house."
"Do you know Aunt Edith, too?" asked Caroline.
"Yes," said Peter, after a pause, "yes, I know Aunt Edith--or used
to. But I didn't know she--they were up in this country. I haven't
seen her--them for a good while. Does--does she sing yet?"
"Oh, yes, but not on the stage any more, you know," Caroline
explained.
"I see. Does she sing, I wonder, a song about--Oh, something about
'my heart'?"
"'My heart's own heart,' you mean," Caroline said importantly; "yes,
indeed. It's her encore song."
"I see," said Peter again.
He looked into the fire, and there was a long silence. After a while
he shook his shoulders like a water-dog.
"Now, Caroline," he said briskly, "here's the way of this business.
You can't wear knickers until you're one of the boys, and you can't
be one of the boys until you wear knickers. Do you see? So you don't
get anywhere."
Caroline looked puzzled. She was suddenly overcome with sleep, and
the old familiar names and ways tasted of home and comfort to her
soul.
"You're too nice to be a boy, Caroline," said Peter, leaning over
her and brushing her azalea-crowned hair tenderly with his lips.
Pages:
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237