The boy put his hand up to his forehead.
"You seem a nice girl," he said, "and you look like—like a lady, only you don't talk the way ladies talk. I'm a gentleman. My father was an officer in the army, and my darling mother died, and—and something happened—I don't know what—but I was very, very, very ill. There was an awful time first, and there seemed to be a woman called Mammy Warren mixed up in the time and——"
"Oh, you had fever," said Connie, "and you—you pictured things to yourself in the fever. But 'tain't true," she added earnestly. "I'm wid her, an' she's real, real, wonnerful kind."
"You wouldn't tell a lie, would you, girl?" said the boy.
Connie bit her lip hard.
"No," she said then in a choked voice.
"I wonder if it's true," said the boy. "It seems to me it was much more than the fever, but I can't—I can't quite remember."
"She is very kind," echoed Connie.
"Children, come along in," said a cheerful voice at that moment; and Connie, raising her eyes, saw the sturdy form of Mrs. Warren advancing up the path to meet her.
"She was terrible cruel in my time," said Ronald, glancing at the same figure. "I don't want to go back."