“Well, I like craziness.”
“Ah!”
Seth’s occasional lapses into monosyllables annoyed Rosebud. She never understood them. Now there came a gleam of anger into her eyes, and their color seemed to have changed to a hard gray.
“Well, whether you like it or not, you needn’t be so ill-tempered about it.”
Seth looked up in real astonishment at this unwarrantable charge, and his dark eyes twinkled as he beheld Rosebud’s own evident anger.
He shook his head regretfully, and cut out a bunch of weeds with his hoe.
“Guess I’m pretty mean,” he said, implying that her assertion was correct.
“Yes.” Rosebud’s anger was like all her moods, swift rising and as swift to pass. Now it was approaching its zenith. “And to show you how good Wanaha is, look at this.” She unfolded her parcel and threw the paper down, disclosing the perfect moccasins the Indian had made for her. “Aren’t 74 they lovely? She didn’t forget it was my birthday, like—like——”
“Ah, so it is.” Seth spoke as though he had just realized the fact of her birthday.
“Aren’t they lovely?” reiterated the girl. Her anger had passed. She was all smiles again.