Half way to the distant schoolhouse, she spoke again, this time more tactfully.
"Never mind the spat, Scott. That's over and done with, even if you were horrid," she told him. "But really, now we're growing up, we ought to think things over and decide things." And, despite her short frocks and her childish face, her words held a curious accent of mature decision.
"What sort of things?"
"The things you are going to do, when you grow up."
"I have decided, I tell you," he said stubbornly.
"To be a country parson, all your days?" she queried flippantly.
"To be a minister, yes. Not a country one, though."
"Oh." She pondered. "What then?"
He looked over her head, not so much in disdain as in search of a more distant vista.
"In a city church, of course, a great stone church with towers and chimes and arches, and crowded full of people, and with their horses and carriages waiting at the doors," he answered, he who had never trodden a paved street in all his life.