She was a little afraid to consent, but she was ashamed to show it. So
she delayed matters by asking "How?"

The boy drew down his face until it was very long, and when he spoke it
was in an awe-inspiring whisper.

"Swear never to tell what I tell you. Repeat after me, 'Harvey
Baker----'"

"Is that your name?"

"Yes--don't interrupt me. 'Harvey Baker, if I tell what you show me, I
hope I may be forever doomed and tortured.'"

Beth looked shocked. "I won't say that."

"'Fraid-cat. 'Fraid-cat."

Again she stamped her foot. "I won't be called that. It's not true.
I will promise not to tell. Can't you believe me?"

The boy considered. "Girls are hardly ever to be trusted, but I'll try
you. In this river there is a great, big, black animal that hates
fraid-cats as much as I do. He eats them up. Why, he has such fierce
jaws and sharp teeth that he could gobble up a little girl like you in
one mouthful."

Beth felt that her hair must be standing up on end. She would have run
away, had not pride detained her--and then the recital rather
fascinated her. Harvey continued, relishing the effect of his story: