"Oh, Andrew! Where have I been? Why——"
"Little runaway!" but his tone was tender, his eyes soft and shining.
"Oh, Andrew!" she exclaimed again. Then she clasped her arms about his body with a kind of vehemence and buried her face for a moment. "Take me back, won't you? I can't stay here. I can't! I don't like anyone. Even Aunt Lois is cross and Rachel hates me."
"Oh, no, no! But thou shalt go back. This is no real home for thee."
"Oh, come, too!" she cried eagerly. "There is a great farm, and Madam Wetherill will be glad to have thee."
"Nay, my father is ill and I could not leave him. And there is so much work to do. But I will see thee now and then to freshen thy memory."
"I should not be likely to forget thee."
"Didst thou have any breakfast?"
"No, I didn't. I was very sleepy when Rachel called. I think I must have run straight to the land of Nod again," laughingly. "And when I came down the table was cleared. There was someone in the kitchen, but I was afraid. I do not know why it is," and her plaintive voice touched him, "only now I am afraid of everybody—oh, no! not afraid of you, for I like you so much. And then I wanted to run away, but I did not know how to go. I climbed the crooked apple tree and swung to and fro until I was sleepy and afraid I might fall out. Then I came down here. Oh, can I go back? Truly, truly?"
"Truly." Yet he said it with a pang. How sweet and dainty she was! He would not have used the words, they were strange to him, but they sent a thrill through his body, as music sometimes does.