“I like little boys,” she said, “and I haven’t any. But I’ve got a pony. Name’s Buckskin.”
“Brand’s got one, too,” said the child, “only Diamond ain’t a pony—he’s a horse. He’s a big horse. Brand has got to swing me pretty high to get me up. When we ride——”
But again some inner warning stopped him, some stern habit closed his mouth.
Nance held out a hand.
“If you’ll come sit in my lap a little while,” she coaxed, “I’ll tell you all about the place where I live. Will you?”
The little fellow twisted in shy indecision.
“Don’t like me??” Nance asked aggrievedly. “I like you——” She smiled again and reached the hand a little nearer.
Diffidently the child took it—edged up—hesitated.
She was wise enough to not insist, even to relax her pull a bit.
True to the law of the contrary which rules the world of childhood, he sidled closer—leaned against her shoulder—and the girl gently folded him in her arms.