“How do you know? I’m a ‘terror,’ Fritzy Nunky says, unless I’m good. And the trouble is, I can’t stay good. I can be delightful sometimes, for little short times; then I forget and cut up. I used to try not to, but I’ve given it up now.”
The satisfied and aged expression which settled upon the boyish face was funny in the extreme, and Content laughed more heartily than she had yet done since she parted with her father at Osaka, in far-away Japan.
“I know she will ‘like’ you; I do”; and she kissed again the pretty, dirty face of the young traveller, and lifted him out upon the grass.
“Where’s the stable?”
“Around this way. Can you lead your horse?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. I’m tired. Where’s the hostler?”
“There is none.”
Little Fritz opened his big eyes. “What’ll we do then?”
“I’ll lead him around to the barn.”
Content took hold of the bridle, but, small as he was, this was more than the chivalrous nature of little Fritz could allow.