"Outledge? Why, we are going there!"

"Are you? That's--jolly!" repeated the boy, pausing a second for a
fresher or politer word, but unable to supply a synonym.

"I'm glad you think so," answered Leslie, with her genuine smile again.

The two had already made up their minds to be friends. In fact, Master
Thayne would hardly have acquiesced in being led up for introduction to
any other young girl in the room. There had been something in Leslie
Goldthwaite's face that had looked kind and sisterly to him. He had no
fear of a snub with her; and these things Mr. Wharne had read, in his
behalf, as well.

"He's a queer old fellow, that Mr. Wharne, isn't he?" pursued Master
Thayne, after forward and back, as he turned his partner to place. "But
he's the only one that's had anything to say to me, and I like him.
I've been down to the old mill with him to-day. Those people"--motioning
slightly toward the other set, where the Thoresbys were dancing--"were
down there, too. You'd ought to have seen them look! Don't they hate
him, though?"

"Hate him? Why should they do that?"

"Oh, I don't know. People feel each other out, I suppose. And a word of
his is as much as a whole preach of anybody's else. He says a word now
and then, and it hits."

"Yes," responded Leslie, laughing.