“Make friends,” said the boy, stopping his dance. “Give me a kiss.”
“Certainly not,” answered Kitty; “but perhaps I may shake hands with you.”
She put out her hand, cautiously watching the boy, who had a gleam in his eyes she did not quite like. He approached with a hop and a jump.
“There’s a sweet for you,” he cried, depositing a spider on Kitty’s palm.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she shivered, gathering herself into a little trembling mass of disgust, skipping about and shaking her finger tips to make sure she had dropped the spider.
The boy laughed louder and louder; that was evidently his idea of fun.
“You are the disagreeablest, mischievousest boy,” said Kitty, turning away, and trying to make her words sound as long and severe as she could. “You deserve to be where you are, in Naughty Children Land. I am going to leave it.”
She blinked her eyes to prevent the tears from falling. She would not for all the world that the queer boy should see he had made her cry.
As she turned away he sang lustily after her:
“Up and down, and round and round,