"Don't you like to be told you are a pretty little girl with nice clothes?"
"No, I don't."
He sniffed disdainfully. "Oh, go long. I don't believe that."
Beth grew very much in earnest, and thought of another little illustration.
"Truth 'pon honor. One day a strange lady in a store put her hand on my head, and said: 'What a pretty little girl.' It made me mad, so that I just grunted and made up a face at her. My mamma said, 'Why, Beth, that is very naughty.' I said, 'Well, mamma, what business is it of hers whether I am pretty or not? It isn't my fault if I am pretty and people shouldn't bother me.'"
The boy laughed. "I believe I rather like you, Beth, but I only have your word for it that you are not like other girls. I have a big mind to try you. Shall I?"
She was a little afraid to consent, but she was ashamed to show it. So she delayed matters by asking "How?"
The boy drew down his face until it was very long, and when he spoke it was in an awe-inspiring whisper.
"Swear never to tell what I tell you. Repeat after me, 'Harvey Baker——'"
"Is that your name?"