‚ÄúYe‚ÅÝ‚Äîes‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI reckon,‚Äù he slowly returned. And then, brightening, he asked gayly: ‚ÄúAnd we‚Äôll be friends always, won‚Äôt we?‚Äù
“Yes,” she said at last, slowly and solemnly, and another brief moment they stood still.
Then the mischief danced in her eyes, and a song bubbled on her lips. She hopped to the tree.
‚ÄúCome‚ÅÝ‚Äîeat!‚Äù she cried. And they nestled together amid the big black roots of the oak, laughing and talking while they ate.
“What’s over there?” he asked pointing northward.
“Cresswell’s big house.”
“And yonder to the west?”
“The school.”
He started joyfully.
“The school! What school?”
“Old Miss’ School.”
“Miss Smith’s school?”
“Yes.” The tone was disdainful.
“Why, that’s where I’m going. I was afeared it was a long way off; I must have passed it in the night.”
“I hate it!” cried the girl, her lips tense.
“But I’ll be so near,” he explained. “And why do you hate it?”