"I know who you are, and I know where you live."
"Where do I?"
"At the Falls, and I know when you moved there—five years ago, or six."
"Six. How do you know?"
"Oh, I know."
As you grew older, and learned to call more boys and girls in the school by name, and more of the clerks in the shops, you discovered new people in the town where you thought you knew everybody, and it made the town infinitely large. But this boy had not been so near her, or she would have seen him. He could not have been in school with her. He must have worked on a farm and studied by himself with the grammar-school teacher at the Falls, and taken special examinations to enter the Junior class this year, as Willard said that some boy at the Falls was doing. He must be that boy or Judith would surely have seen him.
She nodded her head wisely. "I know."
"You know a lot." In his soft brogue this sounded like the most complimentary thing that could be said.
"But you don't remember me." This had troubled her at first. Now it seemed like the most delicious of jokes, and they laughed at it together.
"That was the first thing you said to me."