The hammering was beginning again when Miss Billy spoke:
"What are you making?" she asked pleasantly.
John Thomas Hennesy looked up. As to turned up nose and freckles, he much resembled Marie Jean, but his mouth was firmer. He gave Miss Billy a long penetrating stare, and the colour did not begin to creep into his cheeks until after he had dropped his head.
"I'm fixin' a new kennel fer my dog," he said shamefacedly.
"Goodness!" thought Miss Billy, "he's older than I thought. He must be at least fifteen." Then she went on aloud, "I wonder if it is a white bulldog with a black spot on its back?"
"Yes,—that's her," answered the boy, looking up with quick interest.
"Then she's been calling on me a week steadily, for bones," declared Miss Billy gaily. "I'm so glad to know her."
John Thomas took up his hammer again and began to search irresolutely through his nail box at his side, but Miss Billy stood her ground with her arms behind her and her chin resting on the top of the fence.
"He's wishing I would go," she thought, "but I am not going. I shall stand right here until I get courage enough to ask him to come over and help me with the pansy bed. But it's awkward,—awfully awkward. I can't think of a thing to say."