“He’ll drown you too,” remonstrated Andy, but he handed out the required string. It was impossible to treat Sally as though she were a very little girl.
“Oh, no,” she replied. “I should call out. And I’ve a very loud skreek, haven’t I, mother?”
“You make out Jimmy’s such a bad boy. I’m sure he isn’t, the lamb,” said his mother, burying her cheek in his curls.
But the lamb was disinclined for demonstrative affection at that moment, and he fought her off.
“You don’t want boys to sit still,” said Mrs. Simpson, glancing round proudly.
“N-no,” said Andy, as no one else replied. “He’s a splendid little chap!”
And indeed, as he struggled up again to stand unsteadily in the sunshine above the other children, with the full light on his bright hair and merry face, he did seem the very embodiment of joy and hope and roguish bravery—the things that belong to the clean dawn of life.
“I hope he’ll do well. I hope he’ll grow into a splendid man,” said Andy suddenly.
Or rather the words said themselves as he watched the little laughing lad with his curls all gold against the summer sky. Thus was the father born in Andy.
“It’ll be getting on or the gallows with him, bless him,” said Mrs. Simpson placidly.