e caressed her cheeks into crimson, and swirled her hair
about the down-sloping rim of her wreath-encircled hat. That breeze
brought with it the perfume of opening flowers, the fragrance exhaled by
the trees along the way, the essence of the damp ground stirred by hoof
and wheel. Gwendolyn breathed through nostrils swelled to their widest.

Following the drive to the village came the trip up the stream to
trout-pools. Gwendolyn's father led the way with basket and reel. She
trotted at his heels. And beside Gwendolyn trotted Johnnie Blake.

The piano-seat was Johnnie. His eyes were blue, and full of laughter.
His small nose was as freckled as Jane's. His brown hair disposed itself
in several rough heaps, as if it had been winnowed by a tiny whirlwind.

"Good-morning," said Gwendolyn, curtseying.

"Hello!" returned Johnnie--while Gwendolyn smiled at herself in the
pier-glass. Johnnie carried a long willow fishing-pole cut from the
stream-side. Reel he had none, nor basket; and he did not own a belted
outing-suit of hunter's-green, and high buckled boots. He wore a plaid
gingham waist, starched so stiff that its round collar stood up and
tickled his ears. His hat was of straw, and somewhat ragged. His brown
jeans overalls, riveted and suspendered, reached to bare ankles fully as
brown. The overalls were provided with three pockets. Bulging one was
his round tin drinking-cup which was full of worms.

"Are there p'liceman in these woods?" inquired Gwendolyn.

"Nope," said Johnnie.

"Are there bears?"

"Nope."

"Are there doctors?"

"Nope. But there's snakes--some."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of snakes. I've got one at home. It's long and
black, and it's got a wooden tongue."

"'Fraid to go barefoot?"

"Oh, I wish I could!"

Here she glanced over a shoulder toward the school-room; then toward the
hall. Did she dare?

"Well, you're little yet," explained Johnnie. "But just you wait till
you grow up."

"Are--are _you_ grown-up?"--a trifle doubtfully.

"Of _course_, I'm grown up! Why, I'm _seven_." Whereat she strode up and
down, hands on hips, in feeble imitation of Johnnie.

But here the inclination for further make-believe died utterly--at a
point where, usually, Johnnie threw back his head with a triumphant
laugh, gave a squirrel-like leap into the air (from the top of the
nursery table), caught the lower branch of a tall, slim tree (the
chandelier), and swung himself to and fro with joyous abandon. For
Gwe