"Well, don't you see, stupid?" she gave her head a pretty coquettish turn, "I've got my hair up!"
* * * * *
After this they walked somewhat moodily along a while. Or, at least the young man was moody and silent, while Carnation only smiled sedately, and something, perhaps a certain bitter easting in the wind, made her cheeks more fiowerlike and reminiscent of her name than ever.
"Carnation," he said at last, "why are we not to be friends any more? Why have you grown away from me? You are three years younger—and yet—you seem older somehow to-day—years and years older."
"Well, what more do you want—aren't you carrying my bag?"
"Tell me about yourself—what have you been doing?" He changed the subject.
"Going to school—let me see, six twenties are a hundred and twenty. Coming back another hundred and twenty times. Two hundred and forty trudges, and the bag growing heavier all the time! It is quite time you came back, John Charles!"
"Carnation, dear," with trepidation he ventured the adjective, "I have something to show you that nobody has seen—what will you give me if I show it you?"
"I shan't give you anything; but you can show me and see," was the somewhat inconsequent reply.
"Come here then, by the end of the house."