"Then we must make the most of Saturdays," said Tim, regarding the little girl with a smile. "Are there many girls at your school?" he inquired.
"About twenty—none over twelve years old, and some are as young as five. There's a kindergarten class."
Tim nodded. He had heard Bob speak of the school Kitty attended somewhat disparagingly, as "a school for kids."
"I'm ten years old, you know," she proceeded to explain, "and I've been at school since I was six."
"Then I suppose you're the head in class by this time?" he suggested.
"No," Kitty answered sharply, with a slight show of confusion in her manner; for, truth to tell, she was rather a dunce. Meeting the glance of Tim's eyes, she saw they were twinkling humorously. "I suppose Bob's been telling tales of me, saying that I'm at the bottom of the third class?" she cried, with sudden wrath.
"No, no; indeed he hasn't," he assured her. "Don't be cross! I expect you're like me, and don't care for lessons much."
She nodded, mollified at once. After that there was silence for some minutes. Tim kicked his heels against the wall and whistled light-heartedly whilst Kitty longed to speak to him of the covered basket; but remembering what her father had said in reference to the suggestion she had made of doing so, she kept silent upon the subject.
"Are any of the seeds you planted in your garden coming up?" she asked by-and-by.
"Oh, yes, I think so," he answered. "There's something springing—mignonette, I expect; I sowed a lot of that. How do you manage to keep Snip off your flower-beds? I see he doesn't do any damage in your garden."