Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/46

WAR know my son no more! It was a kind of language without words.

Jon, he was entirely different from the rest of the freundschaft, anyhow. I never could understand him myself—which was his daddy. Now, you could read Dave like a book, through and through. It was wonderful, the difference between those two brothers.

And, handsome—Jon! With long careless yellow hair that he use' to shake out of his eyes, and a couple, or so, of little whiskers hiding out on his face.

The first I knew what was actually up, was one day Evelyn brought the dinner to the field. We were reaping with sickles in the New-Bought-Field, me and Jon and the hireland, because the rye was too much lodged to take the machine in. Yet the rye was good, and we needed it for roasting to make coffee. Real coffee had gone up to a dollar a pound.

I didn't know Evelyn was about at all till Jon dropped his sickle and run 'way 'cross the 30