“Why, Peg! I’ve been often over here.”
“Yes, on some old business or other with Daddy.”
“Oh! Well!”
“Well! I don’t call that anything. You never see me—us, I mean. You never play for us. And you’re always so busy. And—and—Paul, you are just forgetting all about us.” This was going a long way for the proud-spirited Peggy.
Paul considered a few moments. “Yes! I guess that’s so, Peg. But I am busy, you know. And besides, they want me at home. They always want me to play for them before going to bed. Their mother used to sing queer little Indian songs about the beasts and the trees and the stars and things. And then I spin them out on the piano, you know. And the little one, she’s just wild over them and—you know—it is awfully hard for her, always in the dark— Oh, Peg, no light! It must be just terrible for her!”
“I know, I know, Paul. You are just a dear to poor little Tanna. Oh, it is so awfully sad for her. And I am a pig to want you to come away from her.”
“You’re not a pig, Peg,” said Paul indignantly. “You are just fine to Tanna, and I won’t ever forget that, Peggy.”
They had turned Tubby out into the paddock and were standing in the soft light of the September moon near the corral. Peg’s voice grew very soft as she answered, “But I just love her, Paul, and I want to be good to her because I’m sorry for her—and—and because she is your sister. She is, isn’t she, Paul?” Peg finished a little breathlessly.
Paul turned this over in his mind. He was conscious of queer stirrings within him. It came to him all at once that Peg was a girl, not simply a fine and splendid chum, but something different from himself. The moonlight fell in a soft glory upon her sweet face and dainty girlish figure. As he stood looking at her she smiled up into his face. A warm rush of something, he knew not what, filled his whole body from his toes upward.
“Peggy,” he said with a quick catch in his breath, “I think—I’d like to kiss you.”