Something had happened. They had been playing "Ring
Around the Rosy" and June had been caught. She stood scarlet and
tense and the cry was:
"Who's your beau--who's your beau?"
And still she stood with tight lips--flushing.
"You got to tell--you got to tell!"
The mountain boy, Cal Heaton, was grinning with fatuous
consciousness, and even Bob put his hands in his pockets and took
on an uneasy smile.
"Who's your beau?" came the chorus again.
The lips opened almost in a whisper, but all could hear:
"Jack!"
"Jack who?" But June looked around and saw the four at the gate.
Almost staggering, she broke from the crowd and, with one forearm
across her scarlet face, rushed past them into the school-house.
Miss Anne looked at Male's amazed face and she did not smile. Bob
turned respectfully away, ignoring it all, and the little
Professor, whose life-purpose was psychology, murmured in his
ignorance:
"Very remarkable--very remarkable!"
Through that afternoon June kept her hot face close to her books.
Bob never so much as glanced her way--little gentleman that he
was--but the one time she lifted her eyes, she met the mountain
lad's bent in a stupor-like gaze upon her.
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