It's a terrible feeling, Mr. Rayburn. You know I told you I hated
bugs.--I'm afraid I've hurt your feelings," she said sadly.

"Where in the world did you get such an idea as that?" he demanded
rather angrily. "Do you think I have pet bugs to carry around with me
for company?"

"No,--but don't you remember the picnic,--and how you kept gathering
them up in your handkerchiefs and putting them in your pockets? And
how I kept squirming around to get on the other side,--I was trying to
get away from the bugs!"

"But, my heavens, Prudence, those were my field clothes. I don't put
bugs in these pockets,--these are my Sunday togs!" He smiled a little.
"And I always wash my hands, you know." He found it humorous, and yet
it hurt him. Such a little thing to prejudice a girl so strongly,--and
one he liked so marvelously well!

"You might forget, and put them in these pockets,--it's a kind of habit
with you, I suppose. And just plain washing won't take the idea of
bugs off your hands."

"Prudence, you are only a girl,--a childish girl, but a very sweet one.
I want you to like me. When you grow up, you are going to be a
wonderfully good and lovely woman. I--I am going to want you then. I
know it. Let's just be friends now, can't we--until later--for a long
time yet? I'll promise on my word of honor never to put another bug in
my pockets, or my handkerchiefs. But I can't promise not to touch
them, for I have to do it in class. That's how I earn my living! But
I will wash my hands with Ivory soap and sapolio, and rub them with