“Oh, I’ve heard about you,” the girl interrupted with a smile that Tom thought was very attractive. “Ruth was telling me about you.”
“That’s nice,” laughed Tom, and then he caught sight of the cocoon that had been the cause of all the trouble. “Wait, I’ll get it for you,” he volunteered, and he did though he scratched himself grievously on the thorns.
“I’ll walk on with you,” he said, as he rejoined the girl. “I have a note for Ruth.”
“I’m Miss Benson,” said the girl, simply. “I am sure I can’t thank you enough, and I feel as if I already knew you.”
“Good!” cried Tom, wondering how it was he got along so well with girls, when he never before had been used to them.
They walked on, talking of many things—and the May outing. The main entrance of Fairview loomed in sight.
“What shall I do about your handkerchief, Mr. Parsons?” asked Miss Benson. “I’m afraid if I take it off now——”
She started to do so, but at the sight of a little blood trickling down her wrist she shuddered.
“Keep it on,” advised Tom. “You can send it to me later. Perhaps you had better have a doctor look at the scratch. It may need treatment. Some of those thorns are poisonous.”