"Oh, you mustn't talk like that," he urged, laying
one brown hand on her apron. "That wouldn't do for a young lady like
you. I guess you better go to school. Girls, you know!"
He waited a moment, but she scowled silently. He began again:
"I guess it's different with girls, anyway. You see, you have to get
your education. A young lady----"
"I'm not a young lady," snapped Caroline. "I'm only ten 'n' a
quarter!"
"Well, anyway, it isn't respectable," he argued hastily. Caroline
opened her eyes wide at him.
"Aren't _you_ respectable?" she demanded, appraising unconsciously
his clothes, which were, if not fine, at least clean and whole, his
flannel shirt finished with a neat blue tie, his shoes no dustier
than the country roads accounted for.
He flushed under his thick freckles, and plucked at the grass
nervously.
"N-n--yes, I _am_!" he shouted defiantly. "I know lots of people
don't think so, but I am! We earn our way, William Thayer an' me,
an' we don't want much. I don't see as we do any harm. It don't take
much to live, anyhow; it's coal-scuttles an' lookin'-glasses
an'--an' carpets that cost money. And if you don't want _them_--oh,
what's the use talking? I never could live all tied up."
"Caroline! Caroline!" A loud voice cut across her meditative
silence.
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