He turned his back on the two red eyes of the Kavanagh house, and sat down on the step below her, and began his story, eagerly, volubly.
Once in a while he looked up at her, and she gave wise little nods to show she understood. In relating the early episodes of his journey, he ventured to leave out details. But she insisted that he give them.
"I want to know about the world—how they all look, and how they speak, and what they do. I've been lonely all these weeks. I've been wondering all the time what you were doing. Now I want it to seem that you've come to take me with you, back through it all. I want it to seem just as though I were travelling along with you—that will make me forget how lonely I've been, waiting here on the edge of the big woods."
And he humored her whim, for he had always understood her child's ways. The woods had trained him to note the details of all he saw; his experiences had been fresh and stirring, and he told his story with zest.
Then he came to his mention of Madeleine Presson. "Her father is the State chairman—the man you saw at 'The Barracks.' I was at their house a few times. Her mother—"
"But about her! You are skipping again, Big Boy."
"There is not much about her," he said, stammering a bit. "I saw her here and there, and talked with her, that's all."
"But I'm seeing with your eyes and hearing with your ears as I go along with you," she insisted. "I want to know how other girls are in the world outside. I have been waiting to have some one tell me. You saw her, you heard her. Begin, Harlan: her looks, her clothes, her manners, what she said, what she talks about. I have only you to ask."
His self-consciousness left him after he began. He drew his word-picture as best he could.
"That makes her beautiful," she said, when he paused, searching his mind for some word of description. "I think I can see her with your eyes, Big Boy. Tell me what she knows; and how does she talk?"