He smiled bitterly. "No one's as pretty as you, Pearl. No, she ain't
pretty."

"Well, what does she look like?" impatiently.

"Nothing much. Why, I don't know, just looks like most every other woman
you see."

"Oh, Bob, quick! Is she little or big? Is she kind of saucy and quick,
or is she quiet and slow? Quick, now, Hughie's almost here."

"Why--why," he rubbed his hand across his brow, "she's kind of--kind of
motherly."

Pearl threw back her head and laughed, then she took a few dancing steps
up and down the road.

"It's Pearl and Bob," called Hughie. "I knew it a while back when I
stopped to listen, and then I heard a bird note down yonder," with a
wave of his hand toward the direction in which he had come, "and I
wanted to hear it closer, so I didn't wait for you. I can always tell
you two by the sound of your footsteps. Pearl walks in better rhythm
than you do, Bob."

"Of course. What do you expect?" It was Flick who spoke. "What are you
doing so far away from home, anyway, Hughie?"

The boy's wistful, delicate face clouded. "I had to go somewhere," he
said. "That Hanson has been there all morning, and mother has been
sitting with her head so close to his, talking, talking."