"Perhaps they like to go visiting as much as we do. Besides, they don't often have a chance at green corn."

It took some time to recover the truants. By the time they were settled once more under the tree, the sun was nearing the zenith and they were growing hungry.

"It's only half past eleven, but I'm starved. Let's eat now." Ernest eyed the packet of luncheon hungrily.

"All right, go fill the water jug, and I'll get it out."

After lunch they read for awhile, but, presently, the sun seemed to grow hotter and they commenced to feel drowsy. They decided to take turns watching the cattle and napping. The cattle also seemed to feel the heat and were hunting patches of shade, lying down to chew their cuds contentedly. The air seemed palpitating with the incessant humming and whirring of insects. Bees, and white and yellow b.u.t.terflies flittered in a mat of weeds and wild blackberry vines, which had entirely covered an angle of the old rail fence near them.

Ernest's nap was a long one. The boy had been studying hard for his examinations and was thoroughly tired. He was lying on his side, his face resting on his hand, and his old straw hat drawn over his face to keep off the flies. But the nagging insects soon discovered his neck and hands. Chicken Little fished his bandanna out of his pocket to protect his neck, covering the hand that lay on the gra.s.s with her own handkerchief.

He woke at length with a start, smiling up at Chicken Little when he discovered the handkerchiefs.

"Thank you, Sis. Whew, I must have slept for keeps," he added, glancing at the sun. "It's four o'clock. The folks will be along about six."

He sat up and took a survey of the field. The cattle were all quiet.

Chicken Little was braiding little baskets with a handful of cat tail leaves she had brought from the slough. Ernest reached over and patted the busy fingers.

"Sis, I'm mighty fond of you--do you know it?"

Chicken Little looked up at him affectionately. "I suspected it, Ernest," she answered demurely.

The boy was going on with his own thoughts. "I'm mighty glad to get away from the ranch. I don't believe I'm cut out for this sort of thing.

Guess, maybe, I'm not democratic enough--you remember that party at Jenkins'? Well, I've been thinking about it a good deal since. I guess Sherm sort of set me to thinking with his fuss about the kissing games.

At any rate, I've made up my mind I don't intend to be like any of the boys on this creek, and I don't propose that you shall be like any of the girls if I can help it. It isn't that they aren't smart enough and good enough. The people round here are mighty touchy about one person's being just as good as another. Maybe one person is born just as good as anybody else, but, thank goodness, they don't all stay alike. I mayn't be any better than the Craft boys, but I know I'm a sight cleaner, and I don't murder the king's English quite every other word, and I know enough to be polite to a lady. And if I take the trouble to make myself decent, and they don't, I don't see any reason why I should be expected to pretend they're as good as I am."

Ernest was waxing wroth. The insistent equality of the Creek was on his nerves.

"I don't care if people do think I'm stuck up--I'm going to try to a.s.sociate with the kind of people I like. It isn't money--it's just nice living. If it wasn't for people like the Captain and one or two others we'd forget what lady and gentleman meant. And that isn't saying that there aren't lots of good kind people on the Creek, too. But they're so dead satisfied with themselves the way they are--they don't seem to know there is any better way to live."

Chicken Little was listening eagerly.

"I know what you mean. Lots of it's little things. I noticed that night at the Jenkins'. Mamie's prettier than me and the boys like her better, but I don't want to be like her all the same."

"I should think not, Chicken Little, and you needn't worry. You're nothing but a kid yet, but by the time you're eighteen, Mamie Jenkins won't hold a candle to you. And while I think of it, Sis, the less you see of Mamie the better. And I don't want you playing any more kissing games--you're too big."

"Humph, you just said I was nothing but a kid. You're as bad as Mother."

Ernest was not to be diverted. "None of your dodging. I want you to promise me you won't."

Chicken Little considered.

"It isn't that I want to play them," she argued, "but if I don't, I'll have to sit and look on and all the old folks'll ask me if I'm not well, and the girls'll say I'm stuck up. It wasn't as easy as you seem to think, Ernest Morton, but I'll promise, if you'll promise not to kiss any girl while you're gone."

"Nonsense, Jane, you don't understand. It's different with a boy."

Chicken Little fixed her brown eyes upon Ernest's face musingly.

"How is it different?"

"Chicken Little Jane Morton, haven't you had any raising? You know as well as I do it isn't nice for a girl to let boys kiss her."

Chicken Little considered. "You needn't be so toploftical; girls don't want most boys to kiss 'em."

"Most?"

"That's what I said. I hated it when Grant kissed me at Mamie's party, but I don't know that I'd mind if Sherm----"

She got no further. Ernest bristled with brotherly indignation.

"Has Sherm ever----"

"Of course not, Sherm wouldn't! I guess it's because I know he wouldn't, that I shouldn't much mind if he did."

Chicken Little said this soberly, but her face grew a little red.

Ernest's brotherly eyes were observant.

"Oh, Sherm's all right, but Sis, I want that promise."

"I told you I'd promise if you would." Chicken Little drew her lips together in a firm way.

"But I can't--it would be silly--I might look ridiculous sometime if I refused. The fellows would guy me if they knew I made such a promise."

"Well, I just told you they'd guy me if I refused to do what the others do."

"But, Chicken Little, it isn't nice."

"I guess I know that as well as you do. And I don't know that I shall ever play that kind of games again, but I'm not going to promise if you won't. Boys don't need to think they can do everything they want to, just because they're boys. You don't want anybody to kiss me, but I'd like to know how you are going to kiss a girl without making somebody else's sister do something that isn't nice, Ernest Morton."

The discussion ended there. Ernest was not very worldly wise himself, and Chicken Little's reasoning was certainly logical.

They had but little time to talk after that. The cattle began to roam restlessly once more and they were in the saddle pretty constantly for the remainder of the afternoon.

Ernest took the trouble to lift her down from Calico when they reached the stable that evening, an unusual attention. He also gave her a shy kiss on the cheek and whispered: "I'll promise, Sis. I don't know but you are about half right."

CHAPTER XIV

OFF TO ANNAPOLIS

"Golly, I sha'n't have any fingers left by the time I finish this needle case! King's excuse, Katy, you needn't mind. I know I said it, but if you tried to push a needle through this awful leather and p.r.i.c.ked yourself every other st.i.tch you'd say Golly, too." Chicken Little edged off as she saw Katy approaching.

Katy was not to be deterred. "You said to pinch you every single time, Jane Morton, and you've said it twice. Besides, your mother said she hoped I could cure you." Katy gave Chicken Little's arm two vigorous pinches to emphasize this statement.