"Even a foolish little girl up here in the woods has got faith that you
can--and men who are really big don't forget their old friends. I don't
want you mixed up in any wicked thing, Harlan, but I wouldn't want you
to go away from me thinking I was selfish and jealous. That isn't the
right kind of a friend for any one to have. I've been thinking it over."

He stared at her through the dusk. This sudden flash of worldly wisdom,
this unselfish loyalty in one so young, rather startled him.

"That's real grown-up talk, child," he blurted.

"Is it?" The wan little flicker of a smile that she mustered brought
tears to his eyes. "Maybe it's because I'll be sixteen to-morrow.
Good-night, Big Boy!" This new, womanly seriousness was full of infinite
pathos. She had not released his hand. She bent forward suddenly,
leaning from her saddle, and kissed his cheek. "And good-bye, my
playmate!" she whispered. While his fingers still throbbed with the last
pressure of her hand, the black mouth of the big bridge swallowed her.
He listened to the ringing hoof-beats of her horse till sudden silence
told him she had reached the soft soil on the other shore.

He did not gallop to meet his grandfather. He walked his horse for the
long mile past the scattered houses of the village till he came to "The
Barracks."

When he was still some distance away he saw in the gloom of the porch
the red coal of the Duke's cigar. Even then he did not rush forward to
protest and denounce.