"Well," said Phyllis to herself, "it does beat the Dutch how that boy twists round a body's heart!"
"I'm a little hungry, aren't you?" suggested May, with a smile.
Extraordinary spell of a child's face—of its candid smile! The General forgot his dignity, his rigid ideas of deportment; he bent and kissed May's brow, then he said, "Come, dear."
These were strange words for him to speak; he had never said "dear" in his life except as he had coupled it with mother, and he said it under his breath.
May got down from the General's knees and took his hand. "We will go this way to show Miss Sarah that we are friends—I told her that I thought you didn't like me."
As they went along, hand in hand, the General felt awkward. It was the simplest thing in the world to make an excuse for withdrawing his hand, but like many simple things this was hard to do. May's fingers clung to his, and they seemed to have some mysterious connection with May's kiss; both were seals of the new bond between them.
"Miss Sarah!" cried May at the dining-room door, "look at us! You wouldn't think we were the enemies of yesterday, would you? Well, we are not. We are true friends, now—and the training is going to begin right after breakfast."
The training had already begun on both sides.