The Little Red Foot

by Robert W. Chambers

"That is not a loving speech, John Drogue. Do you love me or no?"

"Yes, I do,—you little,——"

"Little what?"

"Object of my heart's desire!" I fairly yelled. "I am like to smother here!—--"

"This is All Fools' Day," says she, sick with laughter to see me mad and at her mercy. "Therefore, you must tell me lies, not truths. Tell me a pretty lie,—quickly!—else I scrub your features!"

After a helpless heave or two I lay still.

"You say you love me tenderly. That is a lie, John Drogue—it being All Fools' Day. So you shall vow, instead, that you hate me. Come, then!"

"I hate you!" said I, licking the snow from my lips.

"Passionately?"

I looked up at her where deep in the snow, under the lilacs, I lay, my arms spread and her two hands pinning my wrists. She was flushed with laughter and I saw the devils o' mischief watching me deep in her dark eyes.