that one."

The boy listened as though he considered the answer of some importance.
At the end he sighed. "No; I never went to a circus," he repeated.

"But you're just wonderful," Agnes declared. "I never saw a boy like
you."

"And I never saw a girl like you," returned the white-haired boy, and
his quick grin made him look suddenly friendly. "What did you crawl out
of that window for?"

"To get a peach."

"Did you get it?"

"No. It was just out of reach, after all. And then I leaned too far."

The boy was looking up quizzically at the high-hung fruit. "If you want
it awfully bad?" he suggested.

"There's more than one," said Agnes, giggling. "And you're welcome to
all you can pick."

"Do you mean it?" he shot in, at once casting cap and jacket on the
ground again.

"Yes. Help yourself. Only toss me down one."

"This isn't a joke, now?" the boy asked. "You've got a _right_ to tell
me to take 'em?"

"Oh, mercy! Yes!" ejaculated Agnes. "Do you think I'd tell a story?"

"I don't know," he said, bluntly.

"Well! I like _that_!" cried Agnes, with some vexation.

"I don't know you and you don't know me," said the boy. "Everybody that
I meet doesn't tell me the truth. So now!"

"Do _you_ always tell the truth?" demanded Agnes, shrewdly.

Again the boy flushed, but there was roguishness in his brown eyes. "I
don't _dare_ tell it--sometimes," he said.

"Well, there's nobody to scare _me_ into story-telling," said Agnes,
loftily, deciding that she did not like this boy so well, after all.

"Oh, I'll risk it--for the peaches," said the white-haired boy, coming
back to the--to him--principal subject of discussion, and immediately he
climbed up the tree.

Agnes gasped again. "My goodness!" she thought. "I know Sandyface
couldn't go up that tree any quicker--not even with Sam Pinkney's
bulldog after her."

He was a slim boy and the limbs scarcely bent under his weight--not even
when he was in the top of the tree. He seemed to know just how to
balance himself, while standing there, and fearlessly used both hands to
pick the remaining fruit.

Two of the biggest, handsomest peaches he dropped, one after the other,
into the lap of Agnes' thick bath-gown as she held it up before her. The
remainder of the fruit he bestowed about his own person, dropping it
through the neck of his shirt until the peaches quite swelled out its
fullness all about his waist. His trousers were held in place by a stout
strap, inst