He had jerked his head vaguely in the direction of the hill, for he did not want her to know.
"Over there."
"Why are you crying?"
"I—I don't know."
"Would you like to play with us?"
"Yes—I—I think I would."
She had called the other children and they had come at once and stood round her, gazing wide-eyed at him, not critically or unkindly, but like puppies considering a new companion. The girl in the green serge frock had taken him by the hand.
"This is a friend of mine, Robert Stonehouse. He's going to play with us. Tag—Robert!"
And she had tapped him on the arm and was off like a young deer.
All his awkwardness and shyness had dropped from him like a disguise. No one knew that he was a strange little boy or that his father owed money to all the tradespeople. He was just like anyone else. And he had run faster than the fastest of them. He had wanted to show her that he was not just a cry baby. And whenever he had come near her he had been all warm with happiness.