"It doesn't mean what you asked."
"But, Drowsy, I didn't ask anything!"
"You thought it, though."
"Thought what?"
"That because I told lies now I would not be an honest man when I grew
up. But that isn't so. I shall be an honest man."
"Yes, but I hadn't spoken a word. How could you tell what I was going
to say?"
"Oh, I dunno. I can often do that."
"Yes, you have done it before, but how do you do it? How do you know?
Just guess at it?"
"No. It sort of comes--as if--well--just the usual way--only without
the words waiting to be spoken. I guess it's natural enough."
"Natural enough! Why, it's most mysterious. Nobody else does it."
"Oh, p'r'aps lots of people do it. We don't know everybody."
"But if many people did it we should have heard about them. No, it's
very mysterious. Why, Drowsy, I had just opened my lips to say your
being such a liar now proves you will be a dishonest man and you said,
before I uttered a word, 'No, it doesn't.'"
Cyrus smiled. "I guess it must be a sort of telegraphing without wires,
like that man Marconi has just discovered."
For a moment they stood in silence, Ruth looking earnestly into the
boy's slumbrous, half smiling eyes, trying vainly to explain the
unexplainable. "It's all the harder to understand," she said, "because
you could only see the back of my head. And this horrid storm was
blowing between us."
"Yes, it's funny, and I dunno much about it. But I believe I could get
it if I wasn't seeing you at all; I mean, if you were way off, out of
sight."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir! I believe I could. Let's try it some day. Will you?"
"Yes, little Drowsy, when ever you say."
Once more she laid a hand against his face.
"Your cheeks are hot again. Now you go straight home and tell your
father just how you feel, and have Joanna sew on that button. Will you?"
"Yep. All right."
He started off. About a dozen yards away he stopped and looked back.
She was still standing where he left her, and was watching him. The
obvious lack of confidence in his promise--or her air of authority with
all this military discipline caused a momentary revolt. He picked up a
handful of snow, rolled it quickly in a ball and threw it. She saw it
coming, but merely bent her head and lifted an arm in protection.
'Twas a good shot. But the snowball, being soft, merely broke against
her arm. Ruth lowered the arm and raised her head, slowly and calmly,
as a Guardian Angel who is invulnerable to earthly weapons. She pointed
toward his home.
Cyrus raised his cap, moved it grandly through the air in a sweeping
curve, bowed very low, then turned and marched away.
He walked with no suspicion of pursuit. But Ruth had obeyed a sudden
impulse. She started forward on a run, and when close behind him gave a
sudden push with both hands. He tumbled forward into a drift and rolled
over on his back. As he started to get up, she pounced on him with all
her weight. Then with both knees on his chest she rubbed his face with
snow.
Had the assailant been another boy, Cyrus would have kicked and struck
and fought him off. But you do not kick and strike your aunts, your
mother or your best girl. So, he merely pushed and wriggled about, with
eyes and mouth tight shut.
Zac seemed to enjoy the business as much as Ruth. He barked and plunged
about as if cheering for the victor.
Well into Cyrus's face Ruth rubbed the snow. "Take that, you horrid
boy, and that, and that!"
With a triumphant laugh she took her knees from his chest, jumped to
her feet and ran away. And as she ran she expected just what happened.
For Cyrus, also quickly on his feet, drew the backs of his mittens
across his eyes for clearer vision, then sent a snowball toward the
vanishing figure. It landed between her shoulders. But she ignored it,
and ran into her own house without even a backward glance.
For a moment Cyrus stood and watched her, then started homeward.
It was a friendly enough parting, but it might have been different had
they know how many years were to come and go before they met again.
[Illustration]