from her as though her clothes were kept where there was a pleasant smell.
"It has been a long time," she said, "weeks. You didn't come where I used to see you."
He shuffled one foot upon the other and fixed his eyes upon her nervously.
"Was that because you hadn't told me the truth about yourself?"
He seized this as an excuse. "Yes'm."
"Why did you tell me what you did?"
He hung his head, not finding any plausible answer to this.
"You aren't afraid of me?"
"No'm."
"Then why was it? You told me what you said was your name," she urged, "and where you lived. I thought perhaps there was something I could do for you. I went there to find out and I found there was no family of that name."
"Yes'm," he admitted. It was not safe to try to lie.
"The boys at the children's bathing beach knew you by sight—they'd seen me talking
