Her
wide, clear eyes were fixed on his rider, her mind was a hustle of
questions.
Had he changed? Would he stay? Did he know that he was "in black
books" with her father? Would he care if he did know? What ages it
seemed--! Four years, wasn't it? Her brain was working too hard to
remember, but she certainly remembered that he had not had a moustache
when he was last at home; such a fanciful little French scrap of a
moustache as it was too, made of pure gold!
"I rather like it, Larry!" she said, beaming at him; "_quite_
nice!"
"What? What's quite nice?" says Larry, beaming back; "oh,
_this_?" He gave the moustache an extra upward twist. "Yes,
rather so! Beats the Kaiser's to fits, I flatter myself! I'm glad you
like it, but I don't see how you could help it!"
Yes! This was the old Larry, the right one; Christian felt very glad.
It might so easily have been some one else, some one not half so nice
as her own old Larry.
"Why on earth didn't you say you were coming? Cousin Freddy told us
that you were painting at Etaples."
"So I was till one fine day I 'took the notion for to cross the raging
ocean,' and I'm jolly glad I did too! Oh, by Jove! Look at old Bill
and the hounds! What a swell! Christian, do you know I haven't seen a
hound for four years! Do you mind if I call them 'dogs,' just till I
get used to them a bit?"
There are few bonds more enduring than those that are woven round the
playmates of childhood.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242