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?”
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôll be near,‚Äù she admitted; ‚Äúthat‚Äôll be nice; but‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù she glanced westward, and the fierce look faded. Soft joy crept to her face again, and she sat once more dreaming.
“Yon way’s nicest,” she said.
“Why, what’s there?”
“The swamp,” she said mysteriously.
“And what’s beyond the swamp?”
She crouched beside him and whispered in eager, tense tones:
“Dreams!”
He looked at her, puzzled.
‚ÄúDreams?‚Äù vaguely‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúdreams? Why, dreams ain‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚Äînothing.‚Äù