At her feet, the play-house was scattered to pieces. She
seemed listening to the love-calls of a woodthrush that came
faintly through the still woods, and then he saw that she heard
nothing, saw nothing--that she was in a dream as deep as sleep.
Hale's heart throbbed as he looked.
"June!" he called softly. She did not hear him, and when he called
again, she turned her face--unstartled--and moving her posture not
at all. Hale pointed to the scattered play-house.
"I done it!" she said fiercely--"I done it myself." Her eyes
burned steadily into his, even while she lifted her hands to her
hair as though she were only vaguely conscious that it was all
undone.
"YOU heerd me?" she cried, and before he could answer--"SHE heerd
me," and again, not waiting for a word from him, she cried still
more fiercely:
"I don't keer! I don't keer WHO knows."
Her hands were trembling, she was biting her quivering lip to keep
back the starting tears, and Hale rushed toward her and took her
in his arms.
"June! June!" he said brokenly. "You mustn't, little girl. I'm
proud--proud--why little sweetheart--" She was clinging to him and
looking up into his eyes and he bent his head slowly.
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