“Patricia, dear, listen!  We must promise never to say anything about it—­never to anybody in the world—­won’t we, dear?”

“Oh, I won’t tell if you don’t want me to, but what——­”

“You promise me—­never to tell a soul!”

“Of course!  I promise—­cross my heart and hope to die—­but what did he do it for?”

Juliana tried humorous evasion.

“Men, my dear, are often tempted by women to such lengths—­tempted beyond their strength.  Your question isn’t worded with all the tact in the world.  Is it so strange that a man should want to kiss me?”

“Well, I don’t know”—­Patricia became judicial, scanning the now flushed countenance of Juliana—­“I don’t see why not.  But what did he do it for?”

“My dear, you’ll be honest with me, and never tell; so I’ll be honest with you.  I don’t know—­I really don’t know.  But I have an awful suspicion that the creature meant to be kind to me.”

“He looks like a kind man.  And he’s the father of the boy that I wore his clothes yesterday when I was running away, and the father of that other boy that was with him and that I’m going to have one of for my very own brother, because Harvey D. and grandpa said something of that kind would have to be done, so what relation will that make us to this man that was so kind to you?”

“None whatever,” said Juliana, shortly.  “And never forget your promise not to tell.  Come, we must go back.”

They went on through the pasture.  The shadows had lengthened and the moon already glowed a warmer bronze.  Juliana glanced at it and murmured indistinctly.

“What is it?” asked Patricia.

“Nothing,” said Juliana.  But she had been asking herself:  “I wonder where he gets his verses?”

Her hand went again to her chin.

CHAPTER V

Dave Cowan went down the ridge to the road, disregarding his gypsy friends.  He trod the earth with a ruffling bravado.  The Wilbur twin lingered as far behind as he dared, loitering provocatively in the sight of the child stealers.  If they meant to do anything about it now was their chance.  But no violence was offered him, and presently, far beyond the camp where the fire still burned, he was forced to conclude that they could not mean to carry him off.  Certainly they were neglecting a prize who had persistently flaunted himself at them.  They notably lacked enterprise.

Down over the grassy slope of West Hill they went, the boy still well in the rear; you never could tell what might happen; and so came to Fair Street across shadows that lay long to the east.  Newbern was still slumberous.  Smoke issued from a chimney here and there, but mostly the town would partake of a cold supper.  The boy came beside his father, with Frank, the dog, again on his leash of frayed rope.  Dave Cowan was reciting to himself: 

    Enchanted ports we, too, shall touch;
    Cadiz or Cameroon—­