She also had dreamy spells; and if left undisturbed would sit at the window by the hour, her eyes on the sky, her slender hands clasped, a smile, sweet and gentle, fixing her young mouth. And Johnnie knew by that smile that she was thinking thinks—that the kitchen was occupied by people whom he did not see. He guessed that one of these was of Royal blood; and came to harbor hostile thoughts toward a certain young Prince, since never before had Cis failed to share her visions with Johnnie. For the first time he found himself shut out.
Once he caught her talking out loud. "I wish," she murmured, "I wish, I wish—"
"Who're you talkin' to?" he asked.
She started, and blushed. "Why—why, I'm talking to you," she declared.
"Well, then, what is it y' wish?" he persisted. "Go ahead. I'm listenin'."
But it had slipped her mind, she said crossly. Yet the next moment, in an excess of regret and affection, "Oh, Johnnie, you're so dear! So dear!" she told him, and gave him a good hug.
He worried about her not a little those days; and though from a natural delicacy he did not discuss her with Mr. Perkins, he did ask the leader an anxious question: "Could a girl be hurt by pinnin' a hot wad of braid right against the back of her brain?"
Mr. Perkins looked surprised. "They all do it," he pointed out. (Evidently he did not surmise whom Johnnie had in mind.)
"But s'pose a girl ain't used to it," pressed Johnnie.
"They get used to it," assured Mr. Perkins.