"Rubbish!" said Peter. "How are you going to be Red Cross Nurses, like you were talking of coming home, if you can't even stand hearing me say about bones crunching? You'd have to hear them crunch on the field of battle—and be steeped in gore up to the elbows as likely as not, and—"
"Stop it!" cried Bobbie, with a white face; "you don't know how funny you're making me feel."
"Me, too," said Phyllis, whose face was pink.
"Cowards!" said Peter.
"I'm not," said Bobbie. "I helped mother with your rake-wounded foot, and so did Phil— you know we did."
"Well, then!" said Peter. "Now look here. It would be a jolly good thing for you if I were to talk to you every day for half an hour about broken bones and people's insides, so as to get you used to it."
A chair was moved above.
"Listen," said Peter, "that's the bone crunching."
"I do wish you wouldn't," said Phyllis. "Bobbie doesn't like it."
"I'll tell you what they do,' said Peter. I can't think what made him so horrid. Perhaps
