“Fibber! Your mother and Marian went over to Benton’s this afternoon. You needn’t try to 285dodge–you and I are going to have this out right now. So you might as well be obliging and sit down comfortably.”
“It wasn’t anything to make such a fuss about.”
“Then why are you making such a row?”
Chicken Little flung herself down upon the grass.
Sherm stretched his muscular length on the sward in front of her and began to chew a grass stem in a leisurely fashion while he watched her.
Chicken Little pulled a handful of long grasses and commenced plaiting them. Her hair was windblown and her face rose-flushed from her run. She declined to look at Sherm.
“Chicken Little–O Chicken Little, are you very mad? Chicken Little?”
Chicken Little kept her brown eyes fixed upon the pliant stems.
“Chicken Little,” Sherm murmured softly, “you have the prettiest eyes of any girl I know.”
Chicken Little caught the touch of malice in his tone and shot an indignant glance at him from the aforesaid eyes.