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Updated: May 8, 2025
Yes! with a throbbing heart, eyes full of tears, a tenderness toward her boy-playmate she had never felt before, she had preserved her calmness. Crying was not wrong she hoped and that was left her. So the child cried, and cried, until nature exhausted herself, and rested. Verty stood for a moment gazing at the door through which Redbud had disappeared, unable to speak or move.
"A childish freak playing with edged tools, you know. A boy-playmate chopped it off by accident: I cut his head open with his own hatchet, and made an idiot of him for life that's all."
This will explain the prim little ladylike air of bashfulness and constraint which Redbud exhibited, when her eyes fell on Verty, and the coolness with which she gave him her hand. The old things had passed away Verty could be the boy-playmate no more, however much it grieved her.
Again, she was the little laughing star of his childhood, as when they wandered about over the fields little children that period so recent, yet which seemed so far away, because the opening heart lives long in a brief space of time. Again, she was to him little Redbud, he to her was the boy-playmate Verty. She had done all by a word a look; a kind, frank smile, a single glance of confiding eyes.
And her head drooped, the long dusky lashes covering her eyes and reposing on her cheek. It was hard for Redbud thus to forbid her boy-playmate, but she felt that she ought to do so. "Think it right!" cried Verty, rising half up, and resting on his hand, "why, what's the harm?" "I don't know," Redbud said, blushing, "but I think you had better ask cousin Lavinia." Her head sank again.
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