"Yes; I've got to be awful careless."
"We'll be all dressed up and ready at quarter of eight. Come to the tavern. I'm going to have supper with Ann. She is just terribly happy. John McNeil has told her that he loves her. It's a secret. Don't you tell."
"I won't. Does she love him?"
"Devotedly; but she wouldn't let him know it—not yet."
"No?"
"Course not. She pretends she's in love with somebody else. It's the best way. I reckon he'll be plum anxious before she owns up. But she truly loves him. She'd die for him."
"Girls are awful curious—nobody can tell what they mean," said Harry.
"Sometimes they don't know what they mean themselves. Often I say something or do something and wonder and wonder what it means."
She was looking off at the distant plain as she spoke.
"Sometimes I'm surprised to find out how much it means," she added. "I reckon every girl is a kind of a puzzle and some are very easy and some would give ye the headache."