lained, corroborating
Edith's praise.

"Champagne like this is far too good for the common people," added
Cosden turning to Mrs. Thatcher. "How did you do it? It is the
apotheosis of gipsy life, and makes me reluctant to return to
civilization."

Billy edged around until he gained a seat next to Merry. "This feast
might have been in honor of our marriage," he whispered. "It's all your
fault that I'm going to war, and if I'm shot up I'll come back and haunt
you."

"Don't, Billy!" Merry sputtered, laughing and choking,--"you'll make me
swallow this the wrong way. There--" she continued as she recovered;
"that's better. Now don't be silly or you'll spoil our fun. We are going
to be good friends always, and that's all there is to it."

"You wait. You've been lots happier since I told you that you loved me,
now haven't you? I know. You think it's a joke because you think I'm a
joke, but when once I've gone to war you'll understand. I'll bet you
even that you'll chase after me as a Red Cross nurse, and that I'll die
with my head in your lap. Do you take me?"

Phil approached near enough to put an end to the proposition without
Merry's reply.

"Do you suppose there's anything in this war talk?" he queried, sitting
down beside them.

"Not a thing," his sister replied. "That would be too absurd."

"If there is, I could at least go as a correspondent,--that is, if Dad
could spare me. I'm terribly keen about this."

"How could you work me in?" Billy demanded. "I couldn't do any newspaper
stunt."

"How about taking pictures to illustrate my articles?"

"Great! I can shoot a Kodak like anything. Then it's all settled that we
go together?"

"Suppose there isn't any war?" Merry persisted in throwing cold water
upon their plans.

Both boys looked gloomily at each other. Then Billy had an inspiration.

"If there isn't," he declared with decision, "then Phil and I will dash
over there and stir one up. We could make faces at them or do something
and get one started. That's the idea, isn't it, Phil?"

"You make me tired!" Philip retorted. "This is too serious a matter to
joke about."

As the older boy moved away disgustedly Billy again whispered to Merry.
"Phil is just as bad as you," he said disconsolately. "He doesn't know
seriousness when he sees it. Come on! Take a chance and be a sport!"

The boy's persistency was the only jarring note in the whole experience,
and the extent of that was too limited to produce la