Betty," he said with
earnestness.

"Then I'm forgiven for making home folks of you?"

"I'm very happy in it."

"Well, you see I had no choice," she hastened to add. "I just had to
finish these flowers before dressing for dinner. I'm expecting that
handsome brother of yours directly and I must look my best for him, now
mustn't I?"

She smiled into his eyes with such charming audacity he had to laugh.

"Of course, you must!" he agreed, and bent quickly to the task of
clearing her violet bed of entangled vines. In ten minutes his strong
hand had done the work of an hour for her slender fingers.

"How swiftly and beautifully you work, Ned!" she exclaimed as he rose
with face flushed and gazed a moment admiringly on the witchery of her
exquisite figure.

"How would you like me for a steady gardener?"

"I hope you're not going to lose your job on your brother's paper?"

"It's possible."

"Why?"

"We don't agree on politics."

"A reporter don't have to agree with an editor. He only obeys orders."

"That's it," Ned answered, with a firm snap of his strong jaw. "I'm not
going to take orders from this Government many more days from the
present outlook."

Betty looked him straight in the eye in silence and slowly asked:

"You're not really going to join the rebels?"

The slender boyish figure suddenly straightened and his lips quivered:

"Perhaps."

"You can't mean it!" she cried incredulously.

"Would you care?" he asked slowly.

"Very much," was the quick answer. "I should be shocked and disappointed
in you. I've never believed for a moment that you meant what you said. I
thought you were only debating the question from the Southern side."

"Tell me," Ned broke in, "does your father mean half he says about
Lincoln and the South?"

"Every word he says. My father is made of the stuff that kindles martyr
fires. He will march to the stake for his principles when the time
comes."

"You admire that kind of man?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes. And for that reason I can't understand why you admire a trimmer
and a time server."

"You mean?"

"The Rail-splitter in the White House."

"But he's not!" Betty protested. "I can feel the hand of steel beneath
his glove--wait and see."

Ned laughed:

"Let Ephraim alone, he's joined to his idols! As our old preacher used
to say in Missouri. Your delusion is hopeless. It's well the President
is safely married."

Betty's eyes twinkled. Ned paused, blushed, fumbled