without reply. Once we were out of earshot, he remarked, with deep
disgust: "What a freshy!"

"Yes, but rather pretty," said I.

"Think so? Now, I don't." This with the air of a connoisseur. "But she
did have good eyes."

"Yes," I agreed. "I like brown ones myself."

"Brown?" protested Dickie. "They were blue, dark blue and big--the
deep kind."

"Oh, were they?" In my tone must have been that which caused Dickie to
suspect that I was teasing him.

"You bet she knows it, too," he added, vindictively. "Conceited
beggars, these girls."

"Awfully," I assented. Then, after a pause: "But I thought you were
fond of cherries?"

"So I am. If she'd been a boy, I would have tried to buy a quart."

"She seemed to want you to have some," I suggested. "Perhaps she would
sell you a few."

Dickie glanced at me suspiciously. "Think so? I've a mind to go back
and try. Will you wait?"

I said I would; in fact, it was the only thing to be done, for he was
off. So I sat down and watched the scorner of girls disappear eagerly
around a bend in the road. At the end of a half hour of waiting I
began to speculate. Had Dickie's courage failed him, had he taken to
the woods, or was he upbraiding her of the gatepost for the sin of
conceit? I would go and see for myself.

All unheeding the rest of the world, they were sitting at the foot of
the cherry tree. The "conceited beggar" of the deep blue eyes was
trying to toss cherries into Dickie's open mouth. When she missed it
became Dickie's turn to toss cherries. The game was a spirited one.
Dickie appeared to be well entertained.

"I thought you had forgotten me," said I, mildly. Dickie's laugh broke
square in the middle, and he smoothed his face into a bored
expression.

"Her name is Rosie," this was the substance of the stammered
introduction.

"Indeed!" I replied. "And you were right about her eyes; they _are_
blue."

Dickie flushed guiltily and hastily got on his feet.

"Come on," he said; "I guess we'd better be going."

Very frankly Rosie looked her opinion of me as we left. It was
interesting to note the elaborate strategy used by Dickie to conceal
the fact that he waved his handkerchief to her. There ensued a long
silence between us, but of this Dickie seemed unconscious. He broke it
by whistling "Bedelia" two notes off the key.

"It's too bad, Dickie," I said, finally, "that you dislike girls so
much."

"They're a silly lot," said Dickie, with a brave effort at a