feet. For an instant she stood very close to him, the wind blowing her short skirt against his knees. Their eyes were now on the same level. How glossy the raven's wings were! Like charred wood in the sunshine. And how gold were the eyes beneath the wings. Not brown at all as she had thought. But like—like
'What are you looking at?' banteringly he inquired.
The boldness of him! Well, she could be bold too! 'Sherry.' She retorted instantly. 'What are you?'
'Two of the blue tiles of Heaven,' he replied, as instantly. And suddenly they both burst into laughter as if they had been very witty.
It was, you see, nothing but persiflage, playful competition, a harmless combat of the wits.
They swung down the hill, side by side, in great long strides, letting the force of gravity carry them along as if they were rolling stones. They plunged into the woods at the foot of the hill; on the level walking more slowly, he taking the lead, as usual, on the narrow trail that meandered for half a mile through leaf-draped aisles of trees, bordering a tumbling brook, crossing it twice, breaking out with it finally into a meadow, startlingly bright and colorful after the curtained woods.
There was a group of birches at the further end of the meadow where the brook spilled over into a
