our rides like this."

"It has been a wicked day for both of us, child."

"And you cannot call me child after to-day--so my father says." Her
voice was still plaintive, but there was a hint of the old mischief
there. "I'll be sixteen to-morrow--and I didn't know until to-day that
I'd be so sorry that it is so. Ever since I was ten I've been wishing I
could be eighteen without waiting for the years. But I don't know, now,
Harlan. It seemed as though I'd be getting more out of living. I thought
so." Tears were in her voice now. "It seems as though I'd grown up all
of a sudden; and things aren't beautiful and happy and--and as they used
to be--not any more! I've lost something, Harlan. And if growing up is
losing so much, I don't want to grow up."

He listened indulgently and understood this protest of the child. Their
horses walked slowly side by side, and the tired hounds trailed after
them.

"The grown-ups do lose a lot of things out of life, little girl--things
that mean a great deal in childhood. But keep your heart open, and other
things will come."

"Perhaps when I get to be twenty-four years old and as big as you are I
can talk that way, and believe it, too. But just now I'm only a girl
that doesn't believe she's grown up, even if they do tell her so, and
tell her she mustn't be a playmate any longer. And you are not to ride
with me any more, and you are not to come to my house nor may I come to
yours. That's what they say. What are we to do, then?"