Arthur looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't for a while, anyway," he said at last.
"I won't tell until you say I may," said Ruth with great decision.
"Well, then,—I was sent out here to ask you to come in to dinner," chuckled the graceless youth, picking himself up from the ground, and making off with surprising agility.
"Oh, you villain," groaned Ruth, throwing a tennis ball at him with such unexpectedly good aim that it hit him squarely in the back.
"Good shot! How did it happen? Oh, but you did bite nicely that time," and Arthur laughed again at her pretended rage.
"If you ever want to be forgiven, come back here and help me take in the racquets and balls," called Ruth, starting toward the house.
"Sure, I will," responded Arthur amiably. "Give me all the racquets and you can take the balls. I know," he continued a moment later, "why every one is so nice to you."
"Is this another sell?" demanded Ruth.
"No, this is truth. You'll find the answer in Mary's Little Lamb if you change the words a little. You look up the last verse and see if I'm not right."
Ruth looked thoughtfully at him as they entered the house, and then sternly repressing the pleased smile that flitted over her face said with assumed indifference: