"I believe you, Curly."
"She and I haven't been so friendly," admitted the boy, in some embarrassment, "since you went fishing with me that time."
"Goodness me! she's not jealous?" cried Ruth.
"I don't know what you call it," said Curly, hanging his head. "It's some foolish girl stuff. Boys don't act that way. I told her I'd take her fishing, too—if she'd get up early enough." Here Curly began to laugh. "You can bet, Ruth, that wherever she is, she got there before dark and won't come back until daylight."
"What do you mean?" asked Ruth, sharply.
"I know she's afraid as she can be of the dark. She's a regular baby about that. Of course, she won't own up to it."
"Why! I never knew it," Ruth exclaimed.
"She wouldn't go fishing because I start so early—while it's still dark. Catch her out of the house before sun-up!"
"Oh, Curly! I blame myself," gasped Ruth. "I never knew that about her. Are you sure?"
"'Course I am. She's scared of the dark. I can make her mad any time by just hinting at it. So that proves it, don't it?" responded this young philosopher.