Jean placed herself beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
"I'm ever so much the tallest—and only nine last month."
"Ah, but I shall grow," said Cyril confidently. "I'm going to be a man."
"A man!" Jean looked him all over again, disdainful and compassionate. "What a pity you weren't made a girl!"
"Father liked me best to be a boy," asserted Cyril.
Jean suddenly remembered his father's death, and as suddenly she recalled the game of bowls.
"Oh, I can't wait. I'm forgetting," she cried. "I must find Oswald."
"Aunt Sybella said there was a boy called Oswald."
"He's my brother!" proudly again.
"Is he nice? Is he like you?" The violet eyes were fixed upon Jean with unspeakable admiration.