“Isn’t that the vegetable boy?” asked the lady, in a cold tone.
Will swung around and pulled off his cap with a polite bow.
“Yes, ma’am,” said he.
“Then run away, please,” she continued, stooping to clip a rose with her shears.
“Run away?” he repeated, not quite able to understand.
“Yes!” said she, sharply. “I don’t care to have my children play with the vegetable boy.”
The scorn conveyed by the cold, emphatic tones brought a sudden flush of red to Will’s cheeks and brow.
“Good bye,” he said to his companions, and marched proudly across the lawn to where his basket lay. Nor did he pause to look back until he had passed out of the grounds and the back gate closed behind him with a click.
Then a wild chorus of protest arose from the children.
“Why did you do that?” demanded Theodore of his mother.