Tommy was doubtful of the adjective, but the tone was certainly one of approbation, and he looked modestly at the path.
"You're a perfect young angel," proceeded Miss Gerald, enthusiastically, "and I'd kiss you only I suppose you wouldn't like it."
Tommy looked at her, dubiously.
"I shouldn't very much," he observed, but chivalry stepped manfully to the fore, and he turned a brown cheek towards her.
"You can if you like, you know," he added, looking resignedly across the valley.
She stooped and dropped a kiss upon his cheek.
"You're the very broth of a boy," she said, as she ran back to the house.
Presently the laurels rustled, and the poet stole out into the pathway.
Tommy was disappearing into a sidewalk, and the poet looked after him with a curious expression.