"You're too young to ever fall in love I reckon."
"No I'm not," he answered with decision.
"Have you got a razor?" she asked.
"No."
"I reckon it would be a powerful help. You put soap on your lip and mow it off with a razor. My father says it makes the grass grow."
There was a moment of silence during which she brushed the mane of her pony. Then she asked timidly: "Do you play on the flute?"
"No, why?"
"I think it would break my heart. My Uncle Henry plays all day and it makes him look crazy. Do you like yellow hair?"
"Yes, if it looks like yours."
"If you don't mind I'll put a mustache on you just—just to look at every time I think of you."