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.




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