“Why not?” Florence inquired.  “Go on and tell me.”

“No,” said Patty gently.  “You might think it was silly.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you might.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“Well, then—­oh, Florence I’m sure you’ll think it’s silly!”

“I promised I wouldn’t.”

“Well—­I don’t think I better say it.”

“Go on,” Florence urged.  “Patty, you got to.”

“Well, then, if I got to,” said Patty.  “What I was going to say, Florence:  Don’t you think your cousin Herbert and Henry Rooter have got the nicest eyes of any boy in town?”

“Who?” Florence was astounded.

“I do,” Patty said in her charming voice.  “I think Herbert and Henry’ve got the nicest eyes of any boy in town.”

“You do?” Florence cried incredulously.

“Yes, I really do, Florence.  I think Herbert Atwater and Henry Rooter have got the nicest eyes of any boy in town.”

“Well, I never heard anything like this before!” Florence declared.

“But don’t you think they’ve got the nicest eyes of any boy in town?” Patty insisted, appealingly.

“I think,” said Florence, “their eyes are just horrable!”

“What?”

“Herbert’s eyes,” continued Florence, ardently, “are the very worst lookin’ ole squinty eyes I ever saw, and that nasty little Henry Rooter’s eyes——­”

But Patty had suddenly become fidgety; she hurried away from the fence.  “Come over here, Florence,” she said.  “Let’s go over to the other side of the yard and talk.”

It was time for her to take some such action.  Messrs. Atwater and Rooter, seated quietly together upon a box on the other side of the fence (though with their backs to the knot-hole), were beginning to show signs of inward disturbance.  Already flushed with the unexpected ineffabilities overheard, their complexions had grown even pinker upon Florence’s open-hearted expressions of opinion.  Slowly they turned their heads to look at the fence, upon the other side of which stood the maligner of their eyes.  Not that they cared what that ole girl thought—­but she oughtn’t to be allowed to go around talking like this and perhaps prejudicing everybody that had a kind word to say for them.

“Come on over here, Florence,” called Patty huskily, from the other side of the yard.  “Let’s talk over here.”

Florence was puzzled, but consented.  “What you want to talk over here for?” she asked as she came near her friend.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Patty.  “Let’s go out in the front yard.”

She led the way round the house, and a moment later uttered a cry of surprise as the firm of Atwater & Rooter, passing along the pavement, hesitated at the gate.  Their celebrated eyes showed doubt for a moment, then a brazenness:  Herbert and Henry decided to come in.

“Isn’t this the funniest thing?” cried Patty.  “After what I just said awhile ago—­you know, Florence.  Don’t you dare to tell ’em!”