"Oh, DON'T!" said Meg, in a choking voice.

The mocking tone died instantly out of his voice, "Miss Meg, you
used to seem such a nice little girl," he said quietly; "what
have you let that horrid MacCarthy girl spoil you for? For she is
horrid, though you may not think so."

Meg did not speak or move, and he went on with a gentle earnestness
that she had not thought him capable of..

"I have watched her on the boat, systematically going to work to
spoil you, and can't help thinking of the pity of it. I imagined
how I should feel if my little sister Flossie ever fell in with
such a girl, and began to flirt and make herself conspicuous,
and I wondered would you mind if I spoke to you about it.
Are you very angry with me, Miss Meg?"

But Meg leaned her head against the rough fence and began to
sob-little, dry, heartbroken sobs that went to the boy's warm
heart.

"I oughtn't to have spoken as I did at first--I was a perfect
brute," he said remorsefully; "forgive me, won't you? Please,
little Miss Meg--I would rather cut my hand off than really hurt
you."

This last was a little consoling, at any rate, and Meg lifted her
face half a second, white and pathetic in the moonlight, and all
wet with grievous tears.