"Curly?" And she looks at me.
"He's our foreman," says Bonnie Bell. "Talk to him if you want to know about riding—he's a rider."
"I was once, ma'am," says I, "but not no more. I wouldn't get on a mean horse now for a thousand dollars. I'm scared of horses, ma'am; but she ain't"—meaning Bonnie Bell. "She still thinks she can ride any of 'em."
"Yes," says Bonnie Bell; "and, as far as that goes, if I could get you to come with me I would always ride a horse and not go in a car or boat."
"Boat?" says Miss Kimberly. "Oh, of course you have 'em too."
"Come down," says Bonnie Bell, "and you and I can look at my horses and boat and things. After that I'll take you home."
"Oh, may I go?" says this Katherine girl. "You see, I suppose I must get home before they tell mommah."
Well, she hadn't more than got out on our porch than she knew in a minute where she was. This was where she showed she was a lady born and a good girl too. She never let on beyond that first look—she seen she had been brought into the house of us can-nyes. This was the house with the wall, where nobody of the Row ever went.
"How lovely it is!" says she. "Do you know you have the nicest place on this whole street? It's tasteful. I like this little sunken garden—it's a dear! And see how the ivy grows on the wall! And over there's the boathouse. May I see your things?"
Now what she said last wasn't any bluff. It was just the girl in her talking to another girl. I seen Bonnie Bell give her another look, kind of asting like—she herself was free and friendly every way; but she hadn't been used to this right along lately. So she looks at this Katherine Kimberly right close for about half a second, till she seen she was on the square.