iled at each other. Caroline laughed aloud, even, in sheer,
irresponsible light-headedness, but over the boy's face a little
shadow grew.

"It won't seem so nice alone after this, will it, William Thayer?"
he said, slowly.

Caroline stared.

"But--but I'm coming! I'll be there," she cried. "I'm coming with
you!"

He went on as if he had not heard.

"Who'll there be to eat our dinner with us to-morrow, William
Thayer?" he questioned whimsically.

Caroline moved nearer and put her hand on his knee.

"There'll be--won't there be me?" she begged.

He shook his head.

"I guess not," he said bluntly.

Her eyes filled with tears.

"But--but you said I was a--a regular little chum," she whispered.
"Don't you like me?"

He was silent:

"Don't you? Oh, don't you?" she pleaded. "I don't _need_ much to
eat, really!"

The lad looked at her with a strange longing. The fatherhood that
lives in every boy thrilled at the touch of her fat little hand on
his knee; the comradely glow in her round brown eyes warmed his
restless, lonely heart. He shook her off almost roughly.

"I guess they'd miss you more'n that salt-shaker," he said grimly.
"I wish I could take you with me--honest, I do. But you better stay
home and go to school. You don't want to grow up ignorant, and have
your folks ashamed of you."

"But you--you aren't ignorant!" she urged warmly, her admiration
shining in her eyes.

He blushed and kicked nervously at the grass.

"I am," he said angrily. "I am, too. Oh, dear, I wish--I wish--"

They looked at each other, troubled and uncertain.

"You're a girl," he began again, "and girls can't; they just can't.
They have to stay with their folks and keep nice. It's too bad, but
that's the way it is. You'd want to see 'em, too. You'd miss 'em
nights."

Caroline winced, but could not deny. "Oh," she cried passionately,
"why do girls have to do _all_ the missing? It's just what that
Simms boy says: 'If I couldn't be a boy, I'd rather be a dog!'"

"There, there," he said soothingly, "just think about it. You'll
see. And you're not exactly like a girl, anyhow. You're too nice."

He patted her shoulder softly, and they lay quietly against the
bank. Her breathing grew slow and regular; raising himself
cautiously on one elbow, he saw that she had fallen asleep, her arm
about William Thayer, her dusty boots pathetically crossed. He
watched her tenderly, with frequent glances up and down the road.

Presently a