Why don't you speak?"

Crushed and remorseful, Leonidas produced her letter. She almost
snatched it from his hand, opened it, read a few lines, and her face
changed. A smile strayed from her eyes to her lips, and back again.
Leonidas's heart was lifted; she was so forgiving and so beautiful!

"Is he a boy, Mrs. Burroughs?" asked Leonidas shyly.

"Well--not exactly," she said, her charming face all radiant again.
"He's older than you. What has he written to you?"

Leonidas put his letter in her hand for reply.

"I wish I could see him, you know," he said shyly. "That letter's
bully--it's just rats! I like him pow'ful."

Mrs. Burroughs had skimmed through the letter, but not interestedly.

"You mustn't like him more than you like me," she said laughingly,
caressing him with her voice and eyes, and even her straying hand.

"I couldn't do that! I never could like anybody as I like you," said.
Leonidas gravely. There was such appalling truthfulness in the boy's
voice and frankly opened eyes that the woman could not evade it, and
was slightly disconcerted. But she presently started up with a vexatious
cry. "There's that wretch following me again, I do believe," she said,
staring at the hilltop. "Yes! Look, Leon, he's turning to come down this
trail. What's to be done? He mustn't see me here!"