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"Genia!" he said softly, so softly that he seemed speaking to himself. "Genia!" "Yes?" She responded in the same still whisper. "You know?" "Yes, I know," she repeated slowly. Her glance fell from his and she turned away. "You know it is impossible," he said. "Yes, I know it is impossible." There was a gasp in her voice.
It was a powerful hand, brown and sinewy, with distorted knuckles and broken nails. "Oh, not that," he said. "I don't mean that. That shows work, but I know you Genia you will tell me work is manly. So it is, but is ignorance and poverty and and all the rest " She leaned over and touched his hand lightly with her own.
He took no notice of the retort, but answered half-absently a former question. "Yes; I used that long ago," he said. "You don't think I would write your name 'Genia' now, do you?" There was a dignity in his assumption of indifference in his absolute refusal to betray himself, which bore upon her conception of his manhood.
"I shall like you more." "Why?" she asked quickly. "Why? Oh, I don't know. Am I so awfully ugly, Genia?" "Turn this way." He obeyed her, flushing beneath her scrutiny. "I shouldn't call you awful," she replied at last. "Am I so ugly, then?" "Honour bright?" "Of course," impatiently. "Then you are yes rather." He shook his head angrily.
"'Cause Miss 'Genia, she give M'haley her hat wid roses on it ovah to the ole mill picnic, when it fell in de spring an' got wet, and we brought her a chicken to take away on de kyars fo' a pet." An old bandbox tied with brown twine was promptly hoisted up from the outer darkness into the light of the red dragon lanterns on the porch.
"Why, Genia, if I'd known you wanted me I'd have been hanging round somewhere. What is it?" "Let me look at you." Nicholas flushed, turning his face away from her. "God knows, I'm ugly enough," he said. She leaned nearer, shaking back her straight, black hair, which fell from beneath the small cap. "I want to see if you have changed since yesterday." He turned towards her.
"Hurry up, Genia!" "You'll certainly cry very loud." "I'll shake you in a moment." "It isn't polite to shake ladies." "You aren't a lady. You're a vixen." "Aunt Verbeny says I'm a limb of Satan. But will you promise not to weep a flood of tears, so I can't cross home?" She leaned still nearer, resting her hand upon his shoulder. "I'm going away." "What?" "I'm going away to-morrow at daybreak.
"Why, Tecumsey only came last June!" "Then I give it up. Tell me." "Say please." "Please, Genia!" "Say 'please, dear, good Genia." "Please, dear, darling Genia." "I didn't say 'darling. I said 'good." "It's the same thing." She smiled at him with boyish eyes. "Am I really a darling?" "Do you really know something?" "You bet I do." "What is it?" She laughed teasingly. "It'll make you cry."
Miss Allison proved the key that unlocked every little red tongue, and they answered her questions glibly. "We don brought sumpin to Miss 'Genia," stammered Tildy, shyly. "M'haley, she got a chicken in dis yere box wot she gwine to give to Miss 'Genia to take away wid her on de kyars." "A chicken!" repeated Miss Allison, laughing, "What did M'haley bring Miss Eugenia a chicken for?"
Don't, I say. Do you hear me, Genia, don't." She looked for a handkerchief, and, failing to find one, wiped her eyes on the horse's mane. "What are you going to do when I am gone?" "Work hard so you'll be proud of me when you come back." "I shall be sixteen in two years." "And I, twenty-one." "You'll be a man quite." "You'll be a woman almost." "I don't think I shall like you so much then."
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