"Or a sore throat, like Methuselah," said Roy, smiling.
"Or you might have been drowned. Once there was a boy drowned here, a long, long time ago, when I was just a kid. It was very sad. But you weren't drowned, were you? And so there's no use in supposing, is there? But I'm going to tell the boys that—"
"I'd rather you didn't, please, Harry," broke in Roy.
Harry, who was becoming quite enthusiastic and excited, opened her eyes very wide.
"Not tell?" she cried. "Why not?"
"Well," answered Roy hesitatingly, "I—I'd rather you didn't."
"No reason!" said Harry scornfully.
"If they think I'd do such a thing," muttered Roy, "they can just keep on thinking so. I guess I can stand it."
Harry looked puzzled for a moment; she was trying to get at his point of view; then her face lighted.
"Splendid!" she cried. "You're going to be a martyr and be misunderstood like—like somebody in a book I was reading! And some day, long after you're gone—" Harry looked vaguely about as though searching for the place Roy was to go to—"folks will discover that you're innocent and they'll be very, very sorry and erect a white marble shaft to your cherished memory!" She ended much out of breath, but still enthusiastic, to find Roy laughing at her.