He turned away to help Rosa adjust the top of her hamper, which would not fit into place over the hard, round chestnuts.
It was beautifully still. The western sky was beginning to redden. A crisp rustling came from the shocks of Indian corn in a near field.
"It must be after five ... time for my Bobbikins to be trotting home," said Sophy, taking his sober face between her hands and crumpling it together like a soft flower. Then she laughed and kissed the crumpled flower of the little face.
"Ho-o-o-g! Ho-o-o-g!" came the long-drawn, minor wail of a negro-voice calling the swine from the mountain for their evening feed.
Rosa went off down the hill, with Bobby trotting at her side. Once the little fellow looked back—only once. His dignity forbade that he should be thought regretful. And "Muvvah" had promised to come and roast chestnuts for him before his bedtime.
"Now for a brisk walk!" said Sophy. "Let's strike into the woods at random and go a little way up the mountain—not far—I must be back to roast those chestnuts before Bobby's bedtime."
"You never break your word to him, do you?" said Loring, as they plunged into the golden depths that seemed aglow with stored sunlight.
"No. Never. I'd rather break my word to ten grown-ups than to one child."
They went on in silence for some yards, the dried leaves ruffling almost to their knees in places. Then Loring said:
"If you once gave your word you wouldn't break it to child or grown-up."