"Yes; you see Miss Foster is on my side of the house, and when you sang
'Turn down an empty glass,'
I knew she'd think it was a prohibition song, and I nearly suffocated."
Edgar met her dancing eyes, and glared at her while she ate a chocolate with relish.
"And I thought you were temperamental!" he muttered.
"Do you wonder really that Maine is a prohibition state?" she asked conversationally. "Here, eat this peppermint one for me. I don't like them," and the even teeth opened mechanically to receive the bonbon she popped between them. "I mean because it's so intoxicating here anyway. Why, I can hardly keep my feet still this morning"; and as they were standing, Violet, on her flat rock, and with the great crimson heart pressed to her breast, began to clog.
Edgar half unconsciously moved away to where he could see her nimble feet. "Whistle," she laughed. "Whistle, and I won't come to you, my lad!"
Edgar whistled, he couldn't help it. Her fair hair blowing, her sea-blue eyes shining, and her sure feet dancing, she seemed the incarnation of the radiant morning. He found himself patting in rhythm, and whistling like a bird until she tired and sank in a blue heap on the rock.
"Oh, it's a jolly world," she cried.
"And you're a jolly girl!" he exclaimed, striding over and flinging himself down beside her. "Why don't you teach me to do that? You promised."