“Don’t you suppose--I realize?” She gasped the words. “It’s been coming--I’ve been--fighting against it. I--I love--my country.” With that she slid from his hand and tumbled in a heap, and the pink and red roses splashed about her. “Oh, Eric--Oh, you’re such a donkey--” she sobbed, with her face in her hands. “Listening to you--your speeches--going right to my heart--these weeks! Oh--you idiot, don’t pull my hair down! And me just human. What did you think I was--cold boiled fish? Oh, Eric--I adore you so--and that voice of yours gets right through--everything. Selfishness, and ambition, and--and piggishness--it’s all no use. You’re such a--a horrid saint. I _have_ to--do as you say. And Eric--darling old Eric--it’s mostly on account of my children, anyhow.” “Your children!” the astounded Eric managed to put in there, and both went off into shrieks of mad laughter. “You _awful_ stupid,” the girl sobbed through laughing. “You said--they’d ask what we’d done--to make the world safe--to help America. And I won’t have any upstarts of children--taunting me--that I--I didn’t buy Liberty Bonds. So--so I’m going to put in every penny--and then I’ll throw it in their old teeth--and I hope it’ll break ’em.” “Honor,” spoke young Eric, and caught his breath to speak. “Honor, you’re the sweetest and finest thing in the world, and I’m prouder to be your brother than of anything on earth.” And Honor knew that no voice to come in life would ever sound sweeter in her ears than her brother’s as he said the words. Later, when the two had taken in hand the new situation, Eric, his arm about his sister’s shoulders, sitting beside her on the grass of the old garden, spoke. “There’s a thing I want to tell you, Honor, but I hate to for fear it may bother you.” “What?” “McIvor is coming.” “Here?--McIvor? _The_ McIvor?” “Yes, to finish up the Liberty Loan campaign. He’s to sing in St. Margaret’s Square, in the open, the night of the 27th. It’s thought his voice will be worth a hundred thousand of subscriptions.” Honor began sucking her thumb violently; the boy had seen her do that in moments of stress from baby-hood. Then she suddenly stopped and whistled. “Whew! I hate it like anything--his coming. He said I wouldn’t get anywhere, and I haven’t. It’s two years. And now I won’t ever. Well--likely he won’t remember a word about me. But I want to hear him. Can you get me a place, Eric?” “You bet I can,” pronounced Eric. “I’m the chairman of the committee on arrangements, and if you don’t have the best seat in the whole blamed show, I’ll eat my hat. Mr. Barron had me made chairman--he’s getting McIvor to come, of course.” “The old fox,” commented Honor. “And never peeped to me.” “’Fraid you’d be sore, and it might put you off singing for meetings,” explained Eric. “Men are silly,” Honor reflected as to that. “McIvor was right and I’m wrong, but does Mr. Barron think I can’t take my medicine, I wonder?”