sentence. Then a question came from me involuntarily.

'Winifred,' I said, 'do you like him as well as you like me?'

'Oh no,' she said, in a tone of wonderment that such a question
should be asked.

'But _I_ am not pretty and--'

'Oh, but you _are_!' she said eagerly, interrupting me.

'But,' I said, with a choking sensation in my voice, 'I am lame.' and
I looked at the crutches lying among the ferns beside me.

'Ah, but I like you all the better for being lame,' she said,
nestling up to me.

'But you like nimble boys,' I said, 'such as Frank.'

She looked puzzled. The anomaly of liking nimble boys and crippled
boys at the same time seemed to strike her. Yet she felt it _was_ so,
though it was difficult to explain it.

'Yes, I _do_ like nimble boys,' she said at last, plucking with her
fingers at a blade of grass she held between her teeth. 'But I think
I like lame boys better, that is if they are--if they are--_you_.'

I gave an exclamation of delight. But she was two years younger than
I, and scarcely, I suppose, understood it.