'Twas a good shot. But the snowball, being soft, merely broke against her arm. Ruth lowered the arm and raised her head, slowly and calmly, as a Guardian Angel who is invulnerable to earthly weapons. She pointed toward his home.
Cyrus raised his cap, moved it grandly through the air in a sweeping curve, bowed very low, then turned and marched away.
He walked with no suspicion of pursuit. But Ruth had obeyed a sudden impulse. She started forward on a run, and when close behind him gave a sudden push with both hands. He tumbled forward into a drift and rolled over on his back. As he started to get up, she pounced on him with all her weight. Then with both knees on his chest she rubbed his face with snow.
Had the assailant been another boy, Cyrus would have kicked and struck and fought him off. But you do not kick and strike your aunts, your mother or your best girl. So, he merely pushed and wriggled about, with eyes and mouth tight shut.
Zac seemed to enjoy the business as much as Ruth. He barked and plunged about as if cheering for the victor.
Well into Cyrus's face Ruth rubbed the snow. "Take that, you horrid boy, and that, and that!"
With a triumphant laugh she took her knees from his chest, jumped to her feet and ran away. And as she ran she expected just what happened. For Cyrus, also quickly on his feet, drew the backs of his mittens across his eyes for clearer vision, then sent a snowball toward the vanishing figure. It landed between her shoulders. But she ignored it, and ran into her own house without even a backward glance.
For a moment Cyrus stood and watched her, then started homeward.
It was a friendly enough parting, but it might have been different had they know how many years were to come and go before they met again.