The bird came back to the hedge and dropped into its nest. The cow, having sought help in vain, looked distractedly into the road and saw a boy pushing open a gate, while another boy, a little bruised and battered, pushed an ancient tandem tricycle into a meadow, and a small girl, with flushed face and blowy corn-colored hair, dabbed her eyes furtively with the hem of her dress.
The trike had to be hidden. It was unlikely, but always possible, that it might be coveted by tramps. Friday Lane lay before them. The boy turned to them with abrupt frankness. “Here, what your names?”
“Mine’s Peter, and my sister’s is Kay.”
“Well, Peter, I guess I hit harder than I meant. But—but I reckon you could have punched my head if you’d chosen. Didn’t get warmed up to the work before she stopped us—was that it?”
They were up to their knees in the meadow-world; the air was full of kind new fragrances. Peter’s eyes were dreamy. The boy rambled on, leading deeper into the avenue of oaks, so that already the first straggling fringe of woods commenced. “My brother’s like that. In Alaska, when the dogs took to fighting, he’d just stand still and laugh and holler at them. Then, all of a sudden, when he saw that they were eating one another, he’d go clean mad and wade in among ‘em and lay ‘em out with the butt of his rifle. He’s a wonder, my brother.”
“I’m sure he is,” said Peter, and Kay, trotting closely by his side, repeated his words to show her interest.
The boy, flattered by the attention of his audience, with the treachery of the born story-teller, sharpened their appetite by suspense. He wagged his head mysteriously. “I could tell you heaps about him if you were to come here often.”
He waited to see what effect that would have. Kay had been hiding behind her brother, clinging to his hand. Now she came level with him, bending her face across him so that she could meet the eyes of the boy. She asked, “May we, Peter? Do you think we can?”
“Not often,” said Peter guardedly; “but as often as we can.”
The boy held out a further inducement. “One day I might show him to you. He’s like that with dogs and—and especially with girls: laughs at ‘em, hollers at ‘em, and then——-. He’s the most glad-eyed chap that ever came down the pike, I reckon. That’s what gives me all my trouble.”