looked at old Pete and promised myself to back him up with my brawn and
nerve when he needed it. Why, in the '13 game it was Pete's flaming face
up on the corner of the stadium that put the ginger in me to carry
across as I did. Yes, I am going to put Pete's hand to my plow and his
legs under old Buttercup at milking-time if it kills us both, if that is
what he needs or you have made him think he needs."

"Oh, Sam, I'm ashamed! I'm ashamed of not wanting precious Peter in my
garden. He can have half of all of it. You know I love him dearly. I'll
work all day with him and attend to all his blisters and get everybody
to give him work and help him."

"Well, I don't believe I'd do all that to him, Betty," answered Sam,
with a laugh. Then his eyes glinted past mine for a second. "And say,
Betty, you know my blisters are kind of--kind of old friends to you;
Pete's might not have so many--many landmarks for you to work by," he
added, as he knocked the ashes carefully out of the brier and picked up
his hat. "Let's go for one fox, and then I'll trot on out to my patch."

"I'll get Tolly to run you out in Redwheels while I do my promised
dances, and then I'll be out early in the morning to help plan about
Peter. And--and, Sam, do you want to--to give me that garden?"

"Everything that is is yours, Bettykin," he answered as we went down the
steps out on to the springy greening grass and across to the back gate.

Some friends taste like bread and butter and peach preserves. Sam does
and he's a peach.

When I got back to the Bankheads' everybody was wondering where we had