"Oh! I would not like that! If we did not quarrel, there would be no making-up. I remember papa and mamma making-up their little tiffs, and they seemed to be very happy about it--and to love each other ever so much better for the tiff and the make-up. I think we must have little quarrels, Sunna; and then, long, long, happy makings-up." "Very well, Eric; only, thou must make the quarrel. With thee I could not quarrel." "I should begin it in this way: 'Sunna, I do not approve of thy dancing with--say--Ken McLeod.' Then thou wilt say: 'I shall dance with whom I like, Eric'; and I will reply: 'thou art my wife and I will not allow thee to dance with McLeod'; and then thou wilt be naughty and saucy and proud, and I shall have to be angry and masterful; and as thou art going out of the room in a terrible temper, I shall say, 'Sunna!' in a sweet voice, and look at thee, and thou wilt look at me, with those heavenly eyes, and then I shall open my arms and thou wilt fly to my embrace, and the making-up will begin." "Well, then, that will be delightful, Eric, but thou must not accuse me of anything so bad as dancing with Mr. McLeod." "Would that be bad to thee?" "Very bad, indeed! I fear I would never try to have a 'make-up' with any one who thought I would dance with him." "Dost thou dislike him?" "That is neither here nor there. He is a Scot. I may marry like the rest of the world, but while my life days last, Sunna Vedder will not marry a Scot." "Yes--but there was some talk that way. My aunt heard it. My aunt hears everything." "I will tell thee, talk that way was all lies. No one will Sunna Vedder marry, that is not of her race." Then she put her arms round Eric, and kissed his wan face, calling him "her own little Norseman!" "Tell me, Sunna, what is happening in the town?" said he. "Well, then, not much now. Men are talking of the war, and going to the war, and empty is the town. About the war, art thou sorry?" "No, I am glad---- "How glorious the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land!" And he raised his small, thin hands, and his face glowed, and he looked like a young St. Michael. Then Max lifted the globe and books aside and put his chair close to his brother's. "Eric has the soul of a soldier," he said, "and the sound of drums and trumpets stirs him like the cry of fire." "And so it happens, Mr. Grant, that we have much noise lately from the trumpets and the fife and drums." "Yes, man is a military animal, he loves parade," answered Max. "But in this war, there is much more than parade." "You are right, Miss Vedder. It was prompted by that gigantic heart-throb with which, even across oceans, we feel each other's rights and wrongs. And in this way we learn best that we are men and brothers. Can a man do more for a wrong than give his life to right it?"