“He is,” said Floretta, with another exceedingly foolish giggle. “My, you are as red as a beet.”
“I ain't old enough to have a beau,” Ellen said, her soft cheeks becoming redder, and her baby face all in a tremor.
“Yes, you be,” Floretta said, with authority, “because you are so pretty, and have got such pretty curls. Ben Simonds said the other day you were the prettiest girl in school.”
“Then do you think he is my beau, too?” asked Ellen, innocently. But Floretta frowned, and tittered, and hesitated.
“He said except one,” she faltered out, finally.
“Well, who was that?” asked Ellen.
“How do I know?” pouted Floretta. “Mebbe it was me, though I don't think I'm so very pretty.”
“Then Ben Simonds is your beau,” said Ellen, reflectively.
“Yes, I guess he is,” admitted Floretta.
That night, amid much wonder and tender ridicule, Ellen told her mother and Aunt Eva, and her father, that Ben Simonds was Floretta's beau, and Granville Joy was hers. But Andrew laughed doubtfully.