must be too busy to
give any heed to--to the ragged little tad I was. Now do you think I
haven't known what it was, long before this, to go on when there wasn't
any hope?"

He waited. Her breath came in a long and quivering gasp. And yet he
did not realize that she was crying.

"I--I don't think that I want to--listen any more," she faltered.

His face went white at that--and then he was smiling again.

"I told you I'd have chosen to tell you differently," the drawling
gentleness was unaltered, "but I'll have to finish this way now. There
may not be many chances for me to speak, for I've come back to you
almost too late. And I don't want to hurt you; why, I'm going to keep
the laughter in your eyes and heart as long as you live. For I thought
it would be a woman I'd find when I came back, and I've found you still
all girl--all save in those moments when you've seemed half boy to me.
And that is strange, too, isn't it--strange that I never knew how much
I wanted you to be like that, until you taught me the wonder of it
yourself? My--eyes are stinging. I don't talk quite plainly. My
throat is too tight for easy speech. For it's just the old wonder of
you, after all--just the same--reverence, isn't it? I'll never let you
grow up now. You'll have to stay girl--Boy--all the rest of your life!
I've learned to be fairly sure of myself, but I'm not asking to be sure
of you yet. I'd never want to be too sure of you unless all the rest
of my whole world had come tumbling down. And then--then I'd need to
know always that I could stake my soul on your keeping faith. I'd want
to know that I could reach out and find your hand searching for mine in
the dark. Your face was the first, girl--it's been the only one.
It'll be the last thing I'll see, the last moment there is sight in my
eyes!"

His slow, infinitely gentle voice stopped. He sat head up, before her.
And then her choking sob answered him through that blind silence. He
was on his feet then; he started forward, and remembered again. And as
if that slim-limbed, huddled little figure had been a boy indeed, he
dropped one arm reassuringly over her bowed shoulders.

"Pity, Barbara?" he asked quietly. "Are you crying from pity? Because
if it's that--it--it beats me!"

She shook her head vehemently.

"I'm not crying because of anything," she sniffed. "I'm just
crying--that' all!"

One hand went searching through pocket after pocket; one elbow came up