I wouldn't be. Course, you're only a girl."

His companion pleaded guilty with a sigh and slipped her hand into his
beneath the steamer rug.

"It's howwid to be a dirl," she confided.

"Bet I wouldn't be one."

"You talk so funny."

"Don't either. I'm a Namerican. Tha's how we all talk."

"I'm Irish. Mith Lupton says 'at's why I'm so naughty," the sinner
confessed complacently.

Confidences were exchanged. Moya explained that she was a norphan and
had nobody but a man called Guardy, and he was not her very own. She
lived in Sussex and had a Shetland pony. Mith Lupton was horrid and was
always smacking her. When she said her prayers she always said in soft
to herself, "But pleathe, God, don't bless Mith Lupton." They were
taking a sea voyage for Moya's health, and she had been seasick just the
teentiest weentiest bit. Jack on his part could proudly affirm that he
had not missed a meal. He lived in Colorado on a ranch with his father,
who had just taken him to England and Ireland to visit his folks. He
didn't like England one little bit, and he had told his cousin Ned so
and they had had a fight. As he was proceeding to tell details Miss
Lupton returned from her stroll.

She brought Moya to her feet with a jerk. "My goodness! Who will you
pick up next? Now walk along to your room, missie."

"Yes, Mith Lupton."

"Haven't I told you not to talk to strangers?"

"He isn't stwanger. He's Jack," announced Moya stanchly.

"I'll teach you to run away as soon as my back is turned. You should
have been in bed an hour ago."

"I tan't unbutton myself."

"A likely reason. Move along, now."

Having been remiss in her duty, Miss Lupton was salving her conscience
by being extra severe now. She hurried her charge away.

Suddenly Moya stopped. "Pleathe, my han'erchif."

"Have you lost it? Where is it?"

"I had it in the chair."

"Then run back and get it."

Moya's thin white legs flashed along the deck. Like a small hurricane
she descended upon the boy. Her arms went around his neck and for an
instant he was smothered in her embrace, dark ringlets flying about his
fair head.

"Dood-night, Jack."

A kiss fell helter-skelter on his cheek and she was gone, tugging a
little handkerchief from her pocket as she ran.

The boy did not see her again. Before she was up he and his father left
the boat at Quebec. Jack wondered whether she had been smacked, after
all. Once or twice during the day he thought of her, but th