Peter wouldn't do that. He's afraid of me."

She was so proud of this that Hugh, perforce, laughed. It was after
supper, and they had walked a little way from the cabin. They were
standing just above the river on a little hillock topped with three
big pines. The dusk was thick about them; stars pricked the soft sky.
Sylvie was wrapped in Hugh's coat, and they were linked by their hands
hanging at their sides. Every one but Sylvie had been very silent
at supper, but she had told her story of Hugh's heroism again and
again until finally even Hugh had grumbled at "the fuss."

"What makes you think anyone could be afraid of you?" He smiled down
at the small dark head which did not reach his shoulder.

"He's afraid I'll kiss him. Don't grip my hand that way; it hurts.
You couldn't be jealous of a boy! Besides, I _don't_ kiss him any
more. I never have kissed him but that once--no, twice, when I told
him that I was going to be his sister."

"You told him that?" Hugh's voice had an odd anxiety. "How did he
take it?"

"I don't think he was very enthusiastic. He loves you so much, Hugh;
you are the very heart of his universe, and I suppose he is jealous
of your love for me. Since then he's avoided me and is as dumb as
a fish when I talk to him. I think his body has outgrown his mind,
Hugh."

"Perhaps. I don't know," he answered.