“Yes?” she heard him answer.
“I'm loving myself,” she called back.
“What's the game?” came his puzzled query. “What are you so stuck on yourself for!”
“Because you love me,” she answered. “I love every bit of me, Billy, because... because... well, because you love every bit of me.”
CHAPTER XIX
Between feeding and caring for Billy, doing the housework, making plans, and selling her store of pretty needlework, the days flew happily for Saxon. Billy's consent to sell her pretties had been hard to get, but at last she succeeded in coaxing it out of him.
“It's only the ones I haven't used,” she urged; “and I can always make more when we get settled somewhere.”
What she did not sell, along with the household linen and hers and Billy's spare clothing, she arranged to store with Tom.
“Go ahead,” Billy said. “This is your picnic. What you say goes. You're Robinson Crusoe an' I'm your man Friday. Make up your mind yet which way you're goin' to travel?”