t polite to shake ladies."

"You aren't a lady. You're a vixen."

"Aunt Verbeny says I'm a limb of Satan. But will you promise not to weep
a flood of tears, so I can't cross home?"

She leaned still nearer, resting her hand upon his shoulder.

"I'm going away."

"What?"

"I'm going away to-morrow at daybreak. I'm going to school. I shan't
come back for a whole year. I'm--I'm going to leave papa and Aunt Chris
and Jim and you."

She began to sob.

"Don't," said Nicholas sharply.

"And--and you don't care a bit. You're just a stone. Oh, I don't want to
go to school!"

"I'm not a stone. I do care."

"No, you don't. And I may die and never come back any more, and you'll
forget all about me."

"I shan't. Don't, I say. Do you hear me, Genia, don't."

She looked for a handkerchief, and, failing to find one, wiped her eyes
on the horse's mane.

"What are you going to do when I am gone?"

"Work hard so you'll be proud of me when you come back."

"I shall be sixteen in two years."

"And I, twenty-one."

"You'll be a man--quite."

"You'll be a woman--almost."

"I don't think I shall like you so much then."

"I shall like you more."

"Why?" she asked quickly.

"Why? Oh, I don't know. Am I so awfully ugly, Genia?"

"Turn this way."

He obeyed her, flushing beneath her scrutiny.

"I shouldn't call you--awful," she replied at last.

"Am I so ugly, then?"

"Honour bright?"

"Of course," impatiently.

"Then you are--yes--rather."

He shook his head angrily.

"I didn't think you'd be mean enough to tell me so," he returned.

"But you asked me."

"I don't care if I did. You might have said something pleasant."

Her sensitive mouth drooped. "I never think of your being ugly when I'm
with you," she said. "It's a good, strong kind of ugliness, anyway. I
don't mind it."

He smiled again.

"Looks don't matter, anyway," she went on soothingly. "I'd rather a man
would be clever than handsome;" then she added conscientiously, "only
I'd rather be handsome myself."

He looked at her closely.

"I reckon you will be," he said. "Most women are. It's the clothes, I
suppose."

Eugenia looked down at him for an instant in silence; then she held out
her hands.

"I am going at daybreak," she said. "Will you come down to the road and
tell me good-bye?"

"Why, of course."

"But we must say good-bye now, too. Did we ever shake hands before?"

"No."

"Then, good-bye. I must go."

"Good-bye, de