The boy seemed to ponder on this for a while and then, evidently finding it beyond him, gave it up.
“Let me see it,” he suggested.
“What?”
“What you drawed with that pencil.”
“What I drew with this pencil?” Gilbert parried, for the sake of hearing him talk.
“Yes.”
“Oh, I guess not!”
The child drew nearer and stood leaning against his knee as he sat on a low slab of rock. They looked steadily into each other’s eyes. There was something irresistibly winning in the little fellow’s fearlessness and sociable intent. Graham lifted his hand and brushed the close-cropped head with gentle touch.
“Poor little chap!” he said, huskily.
“Why’d you say that?” the boy asked curiously.