"Oh, don't we hate ourself," she chided softly, as she handed him more
bait. "You really shouldn't, Allen--"
"What! Hate myself?" he demanded, letting a fish slip back into the water
in his preoccupation. "I'd just as soon--as long as you don't!"
Betty laughed happily. It was so good to be there, unbelievably catching
fish, with Allen beside her saying delightful--and foolish--things.
Then she thought of the parting that must inevitably come and her bright
face clouded. Allen saw the shadow and leaned toward her anxiously.
"What is it, dear?" he whispered softly. "Have I done anything?"
"No," she answered with a little smile, half-whimsical, half-wistful. "You
haven't done anything. It's what you're going to do that hurts."
CHAPTER VIII
ENTER SERGEANT MULLINS
"Mollie, you've been crying."
"I have not!" snapped Mollie, turning so the light would not fall on her
face.
"Well, what are your eyes and nose all red for then?" asked Amy
reasonably.
"Ask them," retorted Mollie. "Probably just did it to make me mad."
Several days had gone by, and the entertainment into which the girls had
thrown themselves with so much enthusiasm had been given and pronounced a
great success by the soldiers stationed at Camp Liberty. Since then the
days had been given largely to the routine work of the Hostess
House--afternoon teas, evening coffee served to those who wished it,
writing letters for the boys, entertaining others, looking after wives and
mothers and sisters who were visiting near the camp, suggesting books for
some who seemed to be of uncertain taste.
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