“If I want to talk to the big man and Mrs. Olds is out of ear shot I don’t see as it can matter.”
“Please, Wanza,” I insisted, “talk with him as little as possible.”
Her eyes were laughing, and teasing and pacifying all at one and the same time. I held out my hand.
“Say you will do as I ask, and give me your hand on it,” I implored.
Her eyes were only teasing now. She shook her head, and I dropped my hand and turned away. I heard a rustling among the grasses and thought she had gone. But when after taking a few steps I looked around, there she was, perched on a boulder, her feet drawn up beneath her pink gingham skirt, her arms crossed on her breast, her eyes surveying me steadfastly. I did not smile as I faced her. I merely glanced and swung on my heel.
“Come here,” she called.
When I was close beside her again she shook her head more vehemently than before, until all her tiny tight curls bobbed up and down distractingly.
“It won’t do,” she said.
“What won’t do?” I asked.
“Your trying to boss me won’t do, my trying to pretend won’t do.”