"Well, Lorry, it's really foolish of you to feel so badly when there's nothing the matter. If you wanted to kiss Alice and she let you—why, that isn't wrong. A boy kissed me once when I was going to school in the East. I just boxed his ears and laughed at him. It is only when you act grumpy or feel badly that I worry about you. I just want to be your little mother then—and try to help you."
"You make me feel like I wasn't fit to ever touch your hand again," he told her.
"But you mustn't feel that way," she said cheerily. "I want you to be brave and strong and happy; just as you were that day we camped here. And you will, won't you?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm takin' orders from you."
"But you mustn't wait for me to tell you. Just be yourself, and then I know you will never be ashamed of anything you do. I must go now. Good-bye, Lorry."
She gave her hand, and he drew her to him. But she turned her face away as he bent his head above her.
"No; not now, Lorry. I—can't. Please don't."
"I—guess you're right. I reckon you showed me just where I stand. Yes, you're plumb right about it, Dorothy. But I'm comin' back—"
"I'll wait for you," she said softly.
He turned briskly to the ponies. The pack-horses plodded up the trail as he mounted Gray Leg and rode over to her.