She leaned nearer, shaking back her straight, black hair, which fell from beneath the small cap.

“I want to see if you have changed since yesterday.”

He turned towards her.

“Have I?” he asked hopefully.

She regarded him gravely, though a smile played over her changeful lips.

“Not a bit.  Not a freckle.”

“Hang it all!  I lost my freckles long ago.”

“Then they’ve come back.  There are one—­two—­three on your nose.”

“Hold on!  Let my looks alone, please.”

Eugenia whistled softly, half grave, half gay.

“Down, darling!” she said to the pointer, and “be still, beauty!” to the horse.  Then she turned to Nicholas again.

“I’ve really and truly got something to tell you, Nick Burr.”

“Out with it, then.  Don’t worry.”

She swung her long legs idly from the saddle.  “Suppose I don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“Suppose I do.”

“I’ll be hanged if I care!”

“Oh, you do, you story.  You’re just dying to know—­but it’s serious.”

She patted the horse’s neck, watching Nicholas with child-like eagerness.

“Well, I’m—­I’m—­there!  I told you you were dying to know!”

“I’m not.”

“Guess, anyway.”

“Somebody coming on a visit?”

She shook her head.

“Try again, stupid.”

“Miss Chris going to be married?”

“Oh, Lord, no.  You aren’t really a fool, Nick.”

“Betsey got a baby?”

“Why, Tecumsey only came last June!”

“Then I give it up.  Tell me.”

“Say please.”

“Please, Genia!”

“Say ‘please, dear, good Genia.’”

“Please, dear, darling Genia.”

“I didn’t say ‘darling.’  I said ‘good.’”

“It’s the same thing.”

She smiled at him with boyish eyes.

“Am I really a darling?”

“Do you really know something?”

“You bet I do.”

“What is it?”

She laughed teasingly.

“It’ll make you cry.”

“Hurry up, Genia!”

“You’ll certainly cry very loud.”

“I’ll shake you in a moment.”

“It isn’t polite to shake ladies.”

“You aren’t a lady.  You’re a vixen.”

“Aunt Verbeny says I’m a limb of Satan.  But will you promise not to weep a flood of tears, so I can’t cross home?”

She leaned still nearer, resting her hand upon his shoulder.

“I’m going away.”

“What?”

“I’m going away to-morrow at daybreak.  I’m going to school.  I shan’t come back for a whole year.  I’m—­I’m going to leave papa and Aunt Chris and Jim and you.”

She began to sob.

“Don’t,” said Nicholas sharply.

“And—­and you don’t care a bit.  You’re just a stone.  Oh, I don’t want to go to school!”

“I’m not a stone.  I do care.”