Leon leaned on the hoe and watched me coming. He was a hungry
boy, and lonesome too, but he couldn't be forced to say so.

"Laddie is at work in the barn," he said.

"I'm going to play in the creek," I answered.

Crossing our meadow there was a stream that had grassy banks, big
trees, willows, bushes and vines for shade, a solid pebbly bed;
it was all turns and bends so that the water hurried until it
bubbled and sang as it went; in it lived tiny fish coloured
brightly as flowers, beside it ran killdeer, plover and solemn
blue herons almost as tall as I was came from the river to fish;
for a place to play on an August afternoon, it couldn't be
beaten. The sheep had been put in the lower pasture; so the
cross old Shropshire ram was not there to bother us.

"Come to the shade," I said to Leon, and when we were comfortably
seated under a big maple weighted down with trailing grapevines,
I offered the bread. Leon took a piece in each hand and began to
eat as if he were starving. Laddie would have kissed me and
said: "What a fine treat! Thank you, Little Sister."

Leon was different. He ate so greedily you had to know he was
glad to get it, but he wouldn't say so, not if he never got any
more. When you knew him, you understood he wouldn't forget it,
and he'd be certain to do something nice for you before the day
was over to pay back. We sat there talking about everything we
saw, and at last Leon said with a grin: "Shelley isn't getting
much grape sap is she?"