“Yes.”
“What’s the matter with her?” grunted Lucas.
“Don’t you see?” exclaimed ’Phemie, in an undertone.
“By cracky!” laughed Lucas. “Ye mean because teacher’s forgot she’s on airth?”
“Yes,” snapped ’Phemie. “You know Lyddy doesn’t care anything about that Mr. Somers. But she has to be polite.”
“Why–why—”
“Will you take us home ahead of them all?” demanded the girl. “Then your sister can have the schoolmaster.”
“By cracky! is that it?” queried Lucas. “Why–if you say so. I’ll do just like you want me to, Miss ’Phemie.”
“You are a good boy, Lucas–and I hope you won’t be silly,” said ’Phemie. “We like you, but we have been brought up to have boy friends who don’t play at being grown up,” added ’Phemie, as earnestly as she had ever spoken in her life. “We like to have friends, not beaux. Won’t you be our friend, Lucas?”
She said this so low that nobody else could hear it but young Pritchett; but so emphatically that the tears came to her eyes. Lucas gaped at her for a moment; then he seemed to understand.