He shook her off almost roughly.
"I guess they'd miss you more'n that salt-shaker," he said grimly.
"I wish I could take you with me--honest, I do. But you better stay
home and go to school. You don't want to grow up ignorant, and have
your folks ashamed of you."
"But you--you aren't ignorant!" she urged warmly, her admiration
shining in her eyes.
He blushed and kicked nervously at the grass.
"I am," he said angrily. "I am, too. Oh, dear, I wish--I wish--"
They looked at each other, troubled and uncertain.
"You're a girl," he began again, "and girls can't; they just can't.
They have to stay with their folks and keep nice. It's too bad, but
that's the way it is. You'd want to see 'em, too. You'd miss 'em
nights."
Caroline winced, but could not deny. "Oh," she cried passionately,
"why do girls have to do _all_ the missing? It's just what that
Simms boy says: 'If I couldn't be a boy, I'd rather be a dog!'"
"There, there," he said soothingly, "just think about it. You'll
see. And you're not exactly like a girl, anyhow. You're too nice."
He patted her shoulder softly, and they lay quietly against the
bank. Her breathing grew slow and regular; raising himself
cautiously on one elbow, he saw that she had fallen asleep, her arm
about William Thayer, her dusty boots pathetically crossed.
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