Involuntarily his hand went to his lip.

"I could try," he said.

"I can't bear to see you look so terribly young; you get worse and worse
every time I see you," she scolded plaintively. "I want you to be a
regular man right quick."

He wondered what he ought to say and presently stammered: "I--I--intend
to. I guess I'm more of a man than anybody would think to look at me."

"You're too young to ever fall in love I reckon."

"No I'm not," he answered with decision.

"Have you got a razor?" she asked.

"No."

"I reckon it would be a powerful help. You put soap on your lip and mow
it off with a razor. My father says it makes the grass grow."

There was a moment of silence during which she brushed the mane of her
pony. Then she asked timidly: "Do you play on the flute?"

"No, why?"

"I think it would break my heart. My Uncle Henry plays all day and it
makes him look crazy. Do you like yellow hair?"