Boy turned away. Then he paused and looked at the girl.
“Boy,” she said wistfully, “I wish we didn’t have no school in this place. I wish Simpson would go away.”
“Why?” he asked quickly.
Slowly her eyes sank and her bosom heaved as her breath came in quick gasps.
He reached out and caught her, and for the first time in their young lives the girl struggled in his arms. He let her go and stood back, wondering. She looked at him and smiled. Her face was pale, and her long lashes did not conceal a look of dumb entreaty.
“Gloss——” he commenced.
“Boy,” she whispered, “we’re built for chums, and chums we’ll always be. But the old rompin’ days are over now. Boy, you mustn’t take me—you mustn’t hold me like that again. We ain’t boy and girl no more.”
He bent and picked up the squirrels. When he stood up again she had gone.
“ ‘We ain’t boy and girl no more,’ ” he repeated.
He walked to the spring repeating the words over and over—“ ‘no more.—Boy and girl no more!’ ”