“Not fiendishly cross,” I said, “but sulky.” And I went on to say that I cared too much for him to ever purposely hurt him, and that if I had I was sorry.
“Will you forgive me, Nat?” he asked stiffly.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said, “but I hate having you not like me.”
“Not like you?” he echoed. “Not like you!” And then he laughed, but not very happily. But I didn’t know what had troubled him until later.
When I got in I found that Willy had gone and Amy was telling Aunt Penelope how nice he was. Evelyn was a little amused at Amy’s description, but that didn’t bother Amy. She raved on in the most elaborate way.
“He must have been a dear little boy,” she said sentimentally.
“He wasn’t,” I responded truthfully. “He always had three teeth out and his pockets full of frogs’ legs and garter snakes.”
Evelyn shuddered, but Amy chose to dress this with romance.
“How brave,” she said, “how manly!”
Then I went to the door, closed it, asked them to be quiet and not to let out any surprised exclamations. After which I told them what had happened and what was to happen.