“That’s all right, son,” put in Adam, kindly. “Genie did look like a boy. So I’ve been telling her.”
“Now—if you’ll excuse me I’ll run back after more milk,” said the lad, hurriedly, and, grasping up the pan, he ran away.
“Well, Miss Know-it-all,” said Adam, banteringly, “what did I tell you? Didn’t I tell you we’d meet some nice young fellow?”
“He—he didn’t see me—all of me,” replied Genie, tragically.
“What? Why, a fellow with eyes like his could see right through that pack!” declared Adam.
“He called me bub!” suddenly exclaimed Genie, her tone changing from one of tragic woe to one of tragic resentment. “Bub!... The—the first boy I ever met in my whole life!”
“Why shouldn’t he call you bub?” queried Adam. “There’s no harm in that. And when he discovered his mistake he apologized like a little man.”
“I hate him!” flashed Genie. “I’d starve to death before I’d eat his eggs and milk.” With that she flounced off into the clump of oaks.
Adam was seeing Genie in a new light. It amused him greatly, yet he could not help but look ruefully after her, somewhat uncertain. Feminine reactions were unknown quantities. Genie reminded him wonderfully of girls he had known when he was seventeen.
Presently young Blair returned with more milk, and also considerably more self-possession. Not seeing Genie, he evidently took the hint and quickly left.