"That's beautiful talk!" she said,—"It's like poetry, but it isn't true!"
"It is true!" he said, with fond insistence. "And I'll MAKE you love me!"
"Ah, no!" A look of the coldest scorn suddenly passed over her features—"that's not possible. You could never MAKE me do anything! And—it's rude of you to speak in such a way. Please let go my hand!"
He dropped it instantly, and sprang erect.
"All right! I'll leave you to yourself,—and Cupid!" Here he laughed rather bitterly. "What made you give that bird such a name?"
"I found it in a book," she answered,—"It's a name that was given to the god of Love when he was a little boy."
"I know that! Please don't teach me my A.B.C.," said Robin, half-sulkily.
She leaned back laughing, and singing softly:
"Love was once a little boy,
Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho!
Then 'twas sweet with him to toy,
Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho!"
Her eyes sparkled in the sun,—a tress of her hair, ruffled by the hay, escaped and flew like a little web of sunbeams against her cheek. He looked at her moodily.