"It does!"
"No!"
"It does!"
"Oc-qui-o-nis! He is a bear!" said Silver Heels, to herself.
We stopped in the hallway, facing each other. Something in her flushed, defiant face, her bright eyes, the poise of her youthful body, brought back with a rush that day, a year ago, when I, sneaking out of the house to avoid the school-room, met her in the hallway, and was balked and flouted and thrust back to the thraldom of the school. Here was the same tormentor—the same child with her gray eyes full of pretty malice, the same beauty of brow and mouth and hair was here, and something added—a maid's delicate mockery which veiled the tenderness of womanhood; a sweetheart and a wedded wife.
"I am thinking of a morning very, very long ago," I said, slowly.
"I, too," said Silver Heels.
"Almost a year ago," I said.
"A year ago," said Silver Heels.
"You little wild-cat thing!" I whispered, tenderly, and took her by the waist so that her face lay upturned on my shoulder.