"I think he would."
"Don't think," Minnie said, with a sly look at him; "be sure."
"I am sure he would then."
"Caught!" cried Minnie, clapping her hands, the sly look, in which there was simplicity, changing to a cunning one, in which there was craft. "Caught, caught, caught!"
"I should like to know how," said Joshua. "How ridiculous of you, Minnie, to cry 'Caught!' as if I was a fox!"
"No, I am the fox," she cried, shaking her hair over her face with enchanting grace. "I am in hiding--just peeping round the corner." She made an opening in her thick hair, and flashed a look at him; a look that was saucy, and cunning, and charming, and wilful, all at once. "Am I a good fox?"
"You are a goose. Tell me how I am caught."
"Listen, then," throwing her hair back, and becoming logical. "Dan loves you as well as any man or woman could love another, you said."
"Did I say as well? I thought I said better. I meant better."
"That's no matter. Dan loves you,"--she held up her left hand, and checked off the items on her fingers--"that is one finger. And Dan would go to sea with you; and it would be right, because he loves you--that is two fingers. But Dan can't go because he is lame--that is three fingers. Now I love you, and I am not lame--that is four fingers. And it would not be wrong in me to follow you--and that is my thumb, the largest reason of all. So you are caught, caught, caught, you see."