“Yes. Don’t you think I can be?”
“Yes, but not of us, I should think. I thought maybe you were going away for good without saying goodby.”
“Now, how could you?” I protested, knowing full well to the contrary. “How nice we look today. Such a pretty dress and the clean white shoes—and the ribbon.”
She was as gay and fluffy as a bit out of a bandbox.
“Oh, no, I just put these on because I had to wear them about the house this morning.” She smiled in a simple, agreeable way, only I fancied that she might have dressed on purpose.
“Well, anyhow,” I said—and we began to talk of school and her life and what she wanted to do. Just as I was becoming really interested, Franklin appeared, carrying a package. “Alas, here he is. And now I’ll have to be going soon.”
“Yes,” she said, quite simply, and with a little feeling. “You’ll be coming back, though.”
“But only for a day, I’m afraid.”
“But you won’t go away the next time without saying goodby, will you?”
“Isn’t that kind of you,” I replied. “Are you sure you want me to say goodby?”