"I will," Bobby developed his plan, "if you'll come up and play in the fort."
"All right," agreed Celia in a breath; "I'll tell mamma I'm going. And I'll hunt up the others."
"I don't want the others to go," announced Bobby boldly.
She calmed to a great stillness, and looked at him with intent eyes.
"All right," she agreed quietly after a moment.
They walked up the street together, followed by the solemn black and white dog. The shop windows did not detain them, as ordinarily. At the fire-engine house they turned under the dense shade of the maples. But by the end of the second block said Bobby:
"We'll go this way."
He was afraid of encountering Angus, or perhaps the Fuller boys.
The sand-hill proved toilsome to Celia, but without a single pause she struggled bravely up its sliding, cascading yellow surface to the top. Then she stood still, panting a little, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, the tiniest curls about her forehead wet and matted with perspiration. With a great adoration, Bobby looked upon her slender figure held straight against the blue sky. Almost—almost dared he speak. At least that is what he thought until the words rose to his lips; and then all at once he realized what a wide gulf lay between the imagined and the spoken word.
"The fort's over this way," said he gruffly.