"I don't know."
"The grass is too long on the croquet ground. I want to mow it. The lawnmower is pretty heavy. Do you think you could help me?"
The boy lay still for a minute more without meeting her eyes again. Then he pulled himself up slowly and walked beside her back to the shed.
"Mr. Barrison makes fun of our croquet ground because it is rough. I want him to see an improvement when he comes again." Veronica led the way to where the mower stood, and the boy took hold of it and drew it after him back to the desired spot.
"I'll pull up all the wickets," said the girl eagerly, and, as she did so, she cast a side-glance at her companion, waiting, and she thought his face the most hopeless and sad she had ever looked upon. She could feel her own eyes sting.
"None of that, none of that," she told herself.
"Now, don't you get too tired," she said. "Let me take my turn." She followed him as he went across the ground once and back again. She chattered of the weather, the sea, the song sparrows, and he answered never a word, just pushed the clicking little machine until the perspiration stood out on his forehead.
"Now, you must let me take it," said Veronica. "I didn't mean that I couldn't do any of it. I just felt it would be tiresome to do it all."
She insisted, and the boy yielded the lawnmower to her, and, standing still, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
Veronica pushed the mower valiantly up and down the ground. It was a cumbrous one and somewhat rusty. So the effort she let appear was not all assumed. When she returned, the boy took it from her and went to work again. He was on the last lap when Mrs. Lowell and Diana appeared, coming up from the sea, having returned from their ramble by the rocky shore instead of by the road. Mrs. Lowell's face lighted as she saw what was going on, and she cast a grateful look at Veronica as she approached.