“Mayn't I come?” asked Bob, going after her; and scraping the butt of the rod along the palings.
“Aren't there enough girls here to satisfy you?” asked Cynthia.
“They're enough—yes,” he said, “but none of 'em could hold a candle to you.”
Cynthia laughed outright.
“I believe you tell them all something like that,” she said.
“I don't do any such thing,” he retorted, and then he laughed himself, and Cynthia laughed again.
“I like you because you don't swallow everything whole,” said Bob, “and—well, for a good many other reams.” And he looked into her face with such frank admiration that Cynthia blushed and turned away.
“I don't believe a word you say,” she answered, and started to walk off, this time in earnest.
“Hold on,” cried Bob. They were almost at the end of the fence by this, and the pickets were sharp and rather high, or he would have climbed them.
Cynthia paused hesitatingly.