"It's just a foolish
risk. Do you mean to slide down to that brook?"
"Slide! We coast, we don't slide. I think you had better go back and tell
Uncle Jim you were afraid."
He was furious. "I tell you this, Miss Grey--I am afraid--I have been
told--well, never mind--that--well---I won't say I'm not afraid--but I'm
more afraid of Uncle James than--than--of death."
She stood still a moment as she faced him, the two pair of blue eyes
meeting. He was very youthful for his years and was near the possibility
of the tears of anger, and, too, the virile qualities of his race were
protesting forces in the background of undeveloped character. The sweet
girl face grew red and kinder. "I was mean, John Penhallow. I am sorry I
was rude."
"No--no," he exclaimed, "it was I who was--was--ill-mannered. I--mean to
coast if I die."
"Die," she laughed gaily. "Let me go first."
"Go ahead then." She was astride of the sled and away down the long
descent, while he watched her swift flight. He set his teeth and was off
after her. A thrill of pleasure possessed him, the joy of swift movement.
Near the foot was an abrupt fall to a frozen brook and then a sharp
ascent. He rolled over at Leila's feet seeing a firmament of stars and
rose bewildered.
"Busted?" cried Leila, who picked up the slang of the village boys to her
aunt's disgust.
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