"But I did not say good-bye on Tuesday," Paul returned, much amused. "That matters; don't you think so?"
"No," Hazel said quaintly. "Going away means good-bye. There is no need to say it, except in your heart."
"Still I like to say it to you and in my heart as well," Paul persisted. "To-morrow, when I shall be already in Paris, I shall be saying, 'Good-bye, little Hazel, good-bye; don't forget me.' And then I shall like to recall how you looked and what you said in answer."
At this juncture they had reached the fence dividing the two estates, and Paul turned to face his little companion.
"I am going away for years," he said, a trifle wistfully. "Will you give a fellow a kiss, Hazel?"
"No," Hazel returned decisively. "I am sorry, but I am too old. You may take both my hands, if you like," she added graciously.
Paul gratefully possessed himself of the proffered hands, and looked long into the upturned childish eyes.
"I wonder whether you will be as pretty when I come back as you are now," was his boyish comment.
"I don't know," Hazel returned indifferently. "I hope I shan't be any browner," she added; "the boys do tease me so."
"And shall you be saying 'good-bye, Paul,' in your heart to-morrow?" he asked eagerly.