I Would respect Beelo’s wish that she appear as a boy, and must keep hammering into my mind the words, Boy, Lad, Dear Little Brother. I must not for a moment think of her otherwise. “Boy, Lad, Dear Little Brother.”
“What are you dreaming, Choseph, and what are those words your lips are saying?” It was Beelo’s cheery voice.
He was sitting up; I was beside him looking down at the gliding water. I woke to the familiar raillery, and turned with a smile.
“Dear lad!” I joyfully responded.
“You had forgotten me,” he ruefully said. “And you, old Christopher! Don’t you see I’m dying of thirst?”
Christopher plucked two large leaves, fashioned them into a cup, and brought the water, which Beelo eagerly drank. He held out his hand, and I helped him up. He tried his legs.
“That’s better,” he said.
The perfect grace of movement, the exquisite feminine figure so artfully concealed,——
“Boy, Lad, Dear Little Brother.”
“Mooning again, and talking to yourself!” cried Beelo.