“Huhuh,” he said, after a pause.
“Why not?” I queried, a little yearningly, for I wanted him to come and sit with me.
“I can’t,” he replied, eyeing me solemnly. “I’m 'fraid.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “not afraid of me, surely? Don’t you know that no one would think of hurting a little boy like you—not a person in all the world? Won’t you come now and sit with me? It’s so nice up here.”
I held out my arms.
“I’m ’fraid,” he repeated.
“Oh, no,” I insisted. “You mustn’t say that, not of me? You couldn’t be. Can’t you see how much I like you? See here”—and I reached into my pocket—"I have pennies and picturecards and I don’t know what all. Won’t you come now? Please do."
“Go on, Charlie,” called a brother. “Whatcha ’fraid of? Go on.” This brother came around then and tried to persuade him.
All the while he was staring at me doubtfully, his eyes getting very round, but finally he ventured a step forward, and I picked him up and snuggled him in my arms.
“There, now,” I said. “Now, you see? You’re not afraid of me, are you? Up here in the nice, big car? And now here’s your other brother come to sit beside us”—(this because the next oldest had clambered in)—"and here’s a nickel and here’s a picturecard and——"