Through a field, across a little bridge they dashed. He flung the
empty coffee-pail at an astonished group of men, who stopped their
work, their fence-posts in hand, to stare at the mad trio.
Breathless at last, they flung themselves on a bank by the road and
smiled at each other. Caroline laughed aloud, even, in sheer,
irresponsible light-headedness, but over the boy's face a little
shadow grew.
"It won't seem so nice alone after this, will it, William Thayer?"
he said, slowly.
Caroline stared.
"But--but I'm coming! I'll be there," she cried. "I'm coming with
you!"
He went on as if he had not heard.
"Who'll there be to eat our dinner with us to-morrow, William
Thayer?" he questioned whimsically.
Caroline moved nearer and put her hand on his knee.
"There'll be--won't there be me?" she begged.
He shook his head.
"I guess not," he said bluntly.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"But--but you said I was a--a regular little chum," she whispered.
"Don't you like me?"
He was silent:
"Don't you? Oh, don't you?" she pleaded. "I don't _need_ much to
eat, really!"
The lad looked at her with a strange longing. The fatherhood that
lives in every boy thrilled at the touch of her fat little hand on
his knee; the comradely glow in her round brown eyes warmed his
restless, lonely heart.
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