"Let's go up through the pasture to the woods," proposed Harold, when Genevieve appeared, swinging her hat.
"All right," nodded Genevieve, somewhat listlessly. "Anywhere."
In the woods, some time later, Genevieve and Harold dropped themselves down to rest. It was then that Harold cleared his throat a little nervously.
"You have a new boy in school, I hear," he said.
Genevieve turned quickly. For a moment she looked almost angry. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
"You've been talking with Tilly, I perceive," she remarked.
"Oh, no; Tilly has only been talking with me," retorted Harold, laughing in his turn—though a little constrainedly.
Genevieve grew suddenly sober.
"I don't care; I'm glad I did it," she declared. "You know what Tilly can be when she wants to be—and she evidently wanted to be, this morning. Just because a boy is new and has got freckles and a queer name, is no reason why he should be made fun of like that."
"Of course not!" Then, still a little constrainedly, Harold asked: "How do you like him? I saw you talking with him afterward."