modically his arms closed until the rabbit
squealed again in an ecstasy of terror.

"Why, I--I reckon to eat him!" he blurted at last, and then his face
grew hotter than ever at the baldness of the answer.

It was hard to follow the change that flashed over her face as she
became conscious of his blundering, clumsy embarrassment. It came too
quickly for that, but the angry light faded from her eyes and her
lips began to curve in the faintest of quizzical smiles. She even
forgot the too short skirt and gaping blouse to raise both hands
toward him in coaxing coquetry.

"Please let him go," she wheedled softly. "Please let him go--for
me!"

Young Denny backed away a step from her upturned face and outstretched
hands, grinning a little as he slowly shook his head. It bewildered
him--puzzled him--this swift change to supplication.

"Can't," he refused laconically. "I--I got to have him to eat."

His voice was calmly final and for no other reason than to learn what
she would do next, because already the boy knew that the soft creature
throbbing against him was to have its freedom again. No one, at least
since he could remember, had ever before smiled and asked Denny Bolton
to "do it--for me." For one flashing instant he saw her eyes flare at
his candid refusal; then they cleared again with that same miraculous
swiftness. Once more the corners of her lips lifted pleadingly, arched
with guileful, provocative sweetness.

"Please," she begged, even more softly, "please--because I ask you
to!"

Once more Young Denny shook his head.

Standing there before his dark house, still smiling vaguely at the
light across the valley his fingers tentatively caressed his lean
cheeks where her fingernails had bit deep through the skin that day.
He never remembered how it had happened--it all came too swiftly for
recollection--but even before he had finished shaking his head the
tempting smile had been wiped from her lips, her little face working
convulsively with rage, before she sprang at him--sprang with lithe,
lightning, tigerlike ferocity that sent him staggering back before
her.

Her hands found his face and tore deep through the skin before he
could lift his wide-flung arms to protect it. And then, almost before
he realized what had happened, she stood back, groping blindly away
from him until her hands found a birch sapling. She clung to it with a
desperately tight clasp as if to hold herself erect. A little spot of
red fle