"Were you very—very much affronted?" I asked, as we were nearing her house.
She seemed considering.
"Because," in a hurried voice, as if I wasn't quite sure I was right—"I've thought it over. I'd just as leave be a Whig as not."
"I shouldn't like you to quarrel with father."
"I'm not going to," I protested earnestly. "And—I want to be good friends."
"Oh, I want us always to be good friends," and the strong sweetness of her tone enraptured me.
She held out her hand, and so we renewed our friendship.
CHAPTER V
OF COMMON DAILY THINGS
The picnic was a grand event, a new sort of entertainment. Some distance to the southeast was the nearest real woods about us. Here and there would be a belt of scrubby pines, good for little besides firewood, or a group of cottonwood trees. But this might justly be called a forest.
Tree planting had aroused no especial interest except the fruit and shade trees in some of the newer residences. A wide clearing was considered a greater protection in the earlier days, as one could sight roving bands of Indians when there was nothing to shelter them.