"
"So'm I," answered the boy, fumbling at his bundle; and then, timidly:
"Will you eat with me?"
"Yes," she said, and watched him with eager eyes.
Untying the strips of cloth, he opened his box, and disclosed chicken
and biscuits, ham and corn-bread. She clapped her hands in glee.
"Is there any water near?" he asked.
Without a word, she bounded up and flitted off like a brown bird,
gleaming dull-golden in the sun, glancing in and out among the trees,
till she paused above a tiny black pool, and then came tripping and
swaying back with hands held cupwise and dripping with cool water.
"Drink," she cried. Obediently he bent over the little hands that seemed
so soft and thin. He took a deep draught; and then to drain the last
drop, his hands touched hers and the shock of flesh first meeting flesh
startled them both, while the water rained through. A moment their eyes
looked deep into each other's--a timid, startled gleam in hers; a wonder
in his. Then she said dreamily:
"We'se known us all our lives, and--before, ain't we?"
He hesitated.
"Ye--es--I reckon," he slowly returned. And then, brightening, he asked
gayly: "And we'll be friends always, won't we?"
"Yes," she said at last, slowly and solemnly, and another brief moment
they stood still.
Then the mischief danced in her eyes, and a song bubbled on her lips.
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