Amanda sighed and turned to her mother. "Mother, I'm going up to put on
an old dress and when Phil comes we're going over to the woods for
arbutus."
"All right."
But the aunt did not consider it all right. "Why don't you help cut
carpet rags?" she asked. "That would be more sense than runnin' out
after flowers that wither right aways."
"If we find any, Millie is going to take them to market to-morrow and
sell them. Some people asked for them last week. It's rather early but
we may find some on the sunny side of the woods."
"Oh," the woman was mollified, "if you're goin' to sell 'em that's
different. Ain't it funny anybody _buys_ flowers? But then some
people don't know how to spend their money and will buy anything, just
so it's buyin'!"
But Amanda was off to the wide stairs, beyond the sound of the
haranguing voice.
"Glory!" she said to herself when she reached her room. "If my red hair
didn't bristle! What a life we'd have if Mother were like that! If I
ever think I have nothing to be thankful for I'm going to remember
that!"
A little while later she went down the stairs, out through the yard and
down the country road to meet her brother. She listened for his
whistle. In childhood he had begun the habit of whistling a strain from
the old song, "Soldier's Farewell" and, like many habits of early
years, it had clung to him. So when Amanda heard the plaintive melody,
"How can I leave thee, how can I from thee part," she knew that her
brother was either arriving or leaving.
As she walked down the road in the April sunshine the old whistle
floated to her. She hastened her steps and in a bend in the road came
face to face with the boy.
At sight of her he stopped whistling, whipped off his cap and greeted
her, "Hello, Sis. I thought that would bring you if you were about. Oh,
don't look so tickled over my politeness--I just took off my hat
because I'm hot. This walk from the trolley on a day like this warms
you up."
His words brought a light push from the girl as she took her place
beside him and they walked on.
"That's a mournful whistle for a home-coming," Amanda told him. "Can't
you find a more appropriate one?"
"My repertoire is limited, sister--I learned that big word in English
class to-day and had to try it out on some one."
"Phil, you're crazy!" was the uncomplimentary answer, but her eyes
smiled with pride upon the tall, red-haired boy beside her. "I see it's
one of your giddy days so I'll sober you up a bit--Aunt Rebecca's at
the house."
"Oh, yea!" He held his side in mock agony.