“Boots,” I answered,—“rubber boots. See mine.”
It was not light enough, but she had seen.
“Yes,” she said, “but governesses do not have rubber boots.”
“They should,” said I, “for the grass is wet even now, and it is long. But I will bring you some.”
“Oh,” she began, and stopped. And I knew she blushed, though I could not see.
“And I wonder,” she went on, “if that queer fellow would let me dig, too.”
“He would.”
“You seem very sure, fisherman.”
“Adam,” I corrected.
“Well, then, Adam.”