“Well, bring your sister. I like your little sister. He, he, he! Good-morning, and good-luck to you.” Then he patted Nora’s head, and went away, laughing, “He, he, he!”
It was hard work for Nora, walking far out of town, and climbing fences, looking for bones which had been thrown out, or hidden by dogs; and many times they were driven away by cross servants.
“It’s all your fault,” said Paul. “You are always peeping in at windows. If you don’t stop it, I’ll strike you.”
“I only want to see what the little girls do,” said Nora. “They go up the steps, and the door shuts; and then, when I can’t see them any more,—then what do they do, Paul?”
“How should I know?” said Paul. “Can’t you stop talking, and give me something to eat? What have you got?”
Nora showed him all her broken bits, and then untied the corner of her handkerchief. There were a few pennies tied up there, given her by a lady who was pleased with her pleasant face. “What shall we do with these, Paul?” said she.
“Well,” said Paul, “I think—I think I’ll buy a cigar. I never had a cigar.”
“To be sure!” said Nora: “a boy ought to have a cigar.”
And, while Paul smoked his cigar, she sat upon a stone near by, watching the smoke. He leaned back against a tree, puffing away, with his feet crossed high up on a rock. Nora was so pleased!