"It wasn't a who, at all—it was a which."
"A which?" he asked somewhat mystified.
"Yes, a which! If you must know, I wanted to be under the awning because of my freckled nose," and I blushed until it hurt. My nose was a great annoyance to me. It was such a little nose to get so many freckles on it. The fact that they disappeared in the winter was but cold comfort to me.
"But I like freckles," he said quite solemnly, but his eyes were dancing with amusement.
"But I don't, and it's my nose. You are the only person who does like 'em."
"Who has been telling you he doesn't like them?"
"Nobody to my face, or rather to my freckles, but I heard Jessie Wilcox talking to someone about me and she called me a speckled beauty,—just exactly as though I were a trout or a coach dog or a turkey egg or something. And I know after this day on the water I'll be a sight."
"Do you care what she says?"
"Why, little friend, I did not dream you put so much value on the opinion of others, especially where mere personal appearance is concerned." I thought I detected a note of disappointment in his voice.