“No, of course not,” cried Fin, trying to frown, and looking bewitching.
“Why, catch you up and kiss you a dozen times for a merry little woodland fay,” cried Trevor.
“Oh, gracious!” cried Fin, snatching away her hands, and retreating behind her sister.
“Don’t be alarmed, little maiden,” said Trevor, laughing; “I won’t do so.”
“I should think not,” cried Fin.
“Sailors’ manners,” said Trevor, laughing, as he walked on by their side.
“Do you know how old I am, sir?” said Fin, austerely.
“I should say nearly sixteen,” said Trevor, glancing at her sister.
“Seventeen and a half, sir,” said Fin, with dignity on her forehead, and a laugh at each corner of her little mouth.
“Then it will be a sin if Nature ever lets you get a day older,” said Trevor, laughing.