She wanted very much to tell him of her father--how he had followed the men over the top; how he had worked day after day getting the stories back to the people at home and spent night after night tracing the "missing," or writing letters for the boys who never got further back than the first dressing-stations and who wanted mothers and fathers and sweethearts to know that they'd had their chance and had made the most of it! But she couldn't, for she was supposed to be Anne and Anne's father had died when she was a little girl. She told him of a few of the college men she had known, who had gone, eagerly, at the first call. "They didn't even want to wait to get commissions! _They_ just wanted to fight!" The revelation of Peter Hyde made her think of Claire's brother. She told him about Claire and Anne--she called Anne, vaguely, "another girl." "Claire's a darling and we just love her, but we can't _abide_ her brother! Of course it's not reasonable, because we've never laid eyes on him, but we've heard enough from Claire to know just what he's like. I suppose the war made a few like him--he was brave enough over there and lucky to have all his recommendations recognized, but it made him _so_ conceited! He came back here and just strutted around, everywhere. Claire says her mother's friends used to have _teas_ for him--he'd go to them and speak and show his medals! Claire was mad over him. She was so disappointed because I came here instead of going to Merrycliffe. But I couldn't see myself spending my time petting her beloved Lion! I knew I'd be rude and say just what I thought." Nancy and Peter were sitting upon the stump of a tree near the cliff. Peter suddenly rose and walked to the edge--his back square to Nancy. After a moment he turned. "Thought I heard something down there," he explained, at her questioning glance. "Don't blame you for disliking that sort--like Claire's brother! They're a rummy kind! I had a friend a lot like him. But--maybe, it wasn't all his fault--about the teas and things! Maybe his mother got 'em started and he didn't want to hurt her!" It was like Peter Hyde, so gentle with children and animals, to stand up now for even Barry Wallace's kind. "You're just like Dad," Nancy cried warmly, then stopped, a little frightened. But of course Peter had not been in Freedom long enough to know anything about the Leavitts. He bowed with great ceremony, one hand over his heart. "If Dad's like daughter, I thank you for the compliment. Now, if you will linger longer with me I'd like to show you Mrs. Sally and her babies. Sally is my experimental pig. I've built a piggery for her with a plunge and a sunken garden, and if you don't declare that Sally enjoys such improved surroundings, I'll know my whole summer's work's a failure."