halo on the fine soft hair, and the half-smile on her mouth was wistful.
“If yer was thinkin’ o’ my soul, Maiden———” ventured Steve.
“I wasn’t. I was thinkin’ of Lou Birot’s.”
“Lou Birot!” Steve came to his feet, and his voice grated. “Lou! Why?”
“Why not?” said Maiden.
“I won’t deny as he’d be the better for some prayin’ over,” said Steve, dryly. “But I’d ruther ’tweren’t you did it.”
“I don’t know as I asked you what you’d rather,” said Maiden, with dignity. “Lou wanted me to go walkin’ with him to-day; but I’d promised you. I mean to go with him next———”
“Yer won’t,” said Steve, in sudden fierceness. “Not with Lou—ever. Maiden, yer don’t know him. He’s a bad lot. A rotten bad———”
“He’s got prettier ways’n you have———”
“Yes,” said Steve with a grin. “The boys’ll tell yer that. Sweet pretty ways he’s got. But they’re not ways fur a gel like you, Maiden.”
“You’re cowards, the lot of you,” cried Maiden, gripping a half-fallen grave-stone in both little hands. “You’re allers passing back-talk about Lou. You’re all jealous of him ’cause he’s good-lookin’ an’ clever—what’s he done, then, that you’re so much better than he is?”
