When he and Janey started for home David politely delivered M’ri’s message of invitation for Carey to come to the farm on the morrow to play.
“It is going to be lovely here,” said the little girl happily. “And we are going to come every summer.”
Janey kissed her impulsively. “Good-by, Carey.”
“Good-by, Janey. Good-by, David.”
“Good-by,” he returned cheerily. Looking back, he saw her lips trembling. His gaze turned in perplexity to Mrs. Winthrop, whose 108 eyes were dancing. “She expects you to bid her good-by the way Janey did,” she explained.
“Oh!” said David, reddening, as two baby lips of scarlet were lifted naturally and expectantly to his.
As they drove away, the light feet of the horse making but little sound on the smooth road, Mrs. Winthrop’s clear treble was wafted after them.
“One can scarcely believe that his father was a convict and his mother a washerwoman.”
A lump came into the boy’s throat. Janey was very quiet on the way home. When they were alone she said to him, with troubled eyes:
“Davey, is Carey going to be your sweetheart?”