"No," she replied, "there's no such thing as a ghost, Billy."
A red squirrel came scampering across the open sod before them, pausing as he sensed their presence, then springing to the trunk of a sapling the better to look them over.
"Oh look at the dear little thing," cried the girl. "What do you suppose he's saying?" as the squirrel broke into a shrill chatter.
"Why he's callin' us all the mean things he knows, I guess," laughed Billy. "We're in his way, you see."
"Then let's get out of his way. I suppose he thinks we have no business here and maybe he's right. Where shall we go, Billy?"
Billy thought a moment. "Say, how'd you like to go out in my punt, on Levee Crick? I kin show you some cute baby mushrats an' some dandy black-birds' nests. It's not far away. We go 'cross that big fallow and through a strip o' hardwoods an' then we climb a stump fence—an' there's the crick. It's an awful fine crick, an' plumb full of bass an' pike. Say, will you go?"
He leaned toward her, waiting for her answer. His heart was singing with joy—joy that spilled out of his grey eyes and made his lips smile in spite of him. What a sweet and grand privilege it would be to carry this wonderful girl, who had so transformed his world, along the familiar by-ways that held such rare treasures of plant and wild life.
She was looking away across the forest to a strip of fleecy cloud drifting across the deep azure of the sky.
"I should like to go," she said at length, "if you are sure you don't think I will be a bother."
"Bother!" Billy's pulses were leaping, his soul singing. He reached down a hand and trustingly she put her's in it. Very soft and cool it felt to Billy's hot palm, as he assisted her from the log. Then side by side they passed down through the long green valley.