Taylor had interrupted himself but Bobby took no notice of his queer smile.
"That's what!" he cried. "Garden! Aunty May says you need one."
"Oh, so Aunty May thinks I need a guardian?"
"Uh-huh. She says so."
"What do you think, Bobby?"
Thus confronted with a question, the nature of which was beyond him, the boy was embarrassed.
"I don't fink," he said and laughed. Then, losing his self-consciousness: "I'm like what Aunty May says Aunt Helen is: I don't say somepin unless I fink somepin. An' when she finks she says. That's what Aunty May says. She only finks about somepin 'portant, Aunty May says."
"And then, likely, I'm not very important, Bobby?"
Again the child was beyond his depth and twisted his fingers.
"Milt, he finks about you. He says to Aunt Helen you're a damn dude—"
"Oh-h-h-h!" broke in Bessy, looking up at her brother, who flushed quickly. He crossed his heart solemnly, bending over her, grasping and shaking one of her arms. "Honest, Bessy, brother won't say it again. Honest, cross my heart!"
Taylor sat down on the bank, dangling his legs in the yellow sand.
"So Milt says I'm a dude, does he?"
Bobby nodded eagerly. Here was something he could follow; and this was becoming a deliciously long interruption to the morning's captivity.
"He says that to Aunt Helen two-free days ago. He says you a—a—," glancing cautiously at Bessy—-
