"Well," I said at last, "what have you decided about that other girl?"
Bess tossed a little handful of grass into the air.
"Going to love her," she said.
"What nonsense!" I exclaimed. You can't, just because you say you're going to. We don't love people because we want to; but because we can't help it. It's because they are nice, that we love them."
"Is that so!" said Bess.
"Yes, it is," said I, beginning to feel very much like a philosopher, and swelling up some, in both feelings and words. "We love people because they possess qualities that make them lovable; and we dislike them because they are—are—cranks."
"H'm!" said Bess. "What is a 'crank'? Be honest, Chet."
I looked at the word with my mind,—and looked—
"Be honest, Chet," said Bess, again.
I grinned. "Bess," I said, "a crank is some one who thinks differently from what I do, and doesn't hesitate to say so."
Bess laughed and clapped her hands together. "Good, Chet! Good! I'm proud of you. Now
