They parted at his front steps. John plodded thoughtfully homeward, for
his brain buzzed with a new and daring possibility. Would Louise
overlook the morning's fiasco and allow him to take her? He broached the
matter of finances to Mrs. Fletcher.

"But what do you want two dimes for? Tell Mother."

No, he wouldn't. But he had to have the two coins. Mrs. Fletcher studied
him curiously.

"Is there some little girl you want to take?"

An evasive silence followed her question. Nevertheless his brown eyes
pleaded his cause so eloquently that one o'clock found him sitting on
the front porch, jingling the money merrily in one hand.

The day was crisp and sunny, with an invigorating breeze from the lake,
which set the blood pulsing in his veins. Ordinarily, he would have
scampered off to play with Bill and Perry Alford or Sid on the way to
school, but not this time. He was waiting for some one.

Shortly a dainty, pink pinafored figure with the familiar curly ringlets
skipped past on the opposite side of the street. When she had gone
perhaps fifty yards, John walked down the steps and followed not too
rapidly. He must catch up quite as if by accident, for it would never do
to have the meeting occur seemingly of his own volition.

She saw him coming and halted at the corner drug store to gaze demurely
at a window display of gaily tinned talcum powder. As the boy came up to
her, a queer, choking sensation filled his throat.

"'Lo," he gulped nervously. Not a sign of recognition. Evidently "Rose
is red" still rankled.

"'Lo," he persevered. She raised her chin ever so slightly. "Those kids
won't throw any more cucumbers. I fixed 'em." Perhaps the memory of his
protection that Saturday would pave the way to peace.

"'Lo," she responded at last. They forsook the enticements of the drug
window and walked on in embarrassed silence.

"Had to stay after school this morning," he volunteered desperately.

"Why?"

Back to his folly again. What a dunce he was!

"Why?" she asked again.

"Oh, 'cause." Conversation dragged once more.

What could he talk to her about? He knew nothing of dolls and keeping
house and making clothes. And he didn't suppose she could tell "Run,
sheep, run" from "Follow the leader," either. He fumbled in his pocket
and brought out the folded blue circular with a show of nonchalance. She
eyed it curiously.

"Going?" he asked.

She didn't know.

"I've got two tickets," eagerly. "Want to come wi