The Copy-Cat [15]
"What," said she, "are you going to do next?" Johnny stared at her. It was a puzzle. "If," said Lily, distinctly, "you are afraid to go home, if you think your aunt will tell, I will let you get into Aunt Laura's baby-carriage again, and I will wheel you a little way." Johnny would have liked at that moment to knock Lily down, as he had his aunt Janet. Lily looked at him shrewdly. "Oh yes," said she, "you can knock me down in the dust there if you want to, and spoil my nice clean dress. You will be a boy, just the same." "I will never marry you, anyway," declared Johnny. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell on you and get you another spanking if you don't?" "Tell if you want to. I'd enough sight rather be spanked than marry you." A gleam of respect came into the little girl's wisely regarding blue eyes. She, with the swiftness of her sex, recognized in forlorn little Johnny the making of a man. "Oh, well," said she, loftily, "I never was a telltale, and, anyway, we are not grown up, and there will be my trousseau to get, and a lot of other things to do first. I shall go to Europe before I am married, too, and I might meet a boy much nicer than you on the steamer." "Meet him if you want to." Lily looked at Johnny Trumbull with more than respect -- with admiration -- but she kept guard over her little tongue. "Well, you can leave that for the future," said she with a grown-up air. "I ain't going to leave it. It's settled for good and all now," growled Johnny. To his immense surprise, Lily curved her white embroidered sleeve over her face and began to weep. "What's the matter now?" asked Johnny, sulkily, after a minute. "I think you are a real horrid boy," sobbed Lily. Lily looked like nothing but a very frilly, sweet, white flower. Johnny could not see her face. There was nothing to be seen except that delicate fluff of white, supported on dainty white-socked, white- slippered limbs. "Say," said Johnny. "You are real cruel, when I -- I saved your -- li-fe," wailed Lily. "Say," said Johnny, "maybe if I don't see any other girl I like better I will marry you when I am grown up, but I won't if you don't stop that howl- ing." Lily stopped immediately. She peeped at him, a blue peep from under the flopping, embroidered brim of her hat. "Are you in earnest?" She smiled faintly. Her blue eyes, wet with tears, were lovely; so was her hesitating smile. "Yes, if you don't act silly," said Johnny. "Now you had better run home, or your mother will won- der where that baby-carriage is." Lily walked away, smiling over her shoulder, the smile of the happily subjugated. "I won't tell any- body, Johnny," she called back in her flute-like voice. "Don't care if you do," returned Johnny, looking at her with chin in the air and shoulders square, and Lily wondered at his bravery. But Johnny was not so brave and he did care. He knew that his best course was an immediate return home, but he did not know what he might have to face. He could not in the least understand why his aunt Janet had not told at once. He was sure that she knew. Then he thought of a possible reason for her silence; she might have feared his arrest at the hands of the chief of police. Johnny quailed. He knew his aunt Janet to be rather a brave sort of woman. If she had fears, she must have had reason for them. He might even now be arrested. Suppose Lily did tell. He had a theory that girls usually told. He began to speculate concerning the horrors of prison. Of course he would not be executed, since his aunt was obviously very far from being killed, but he might be imprisoned for a long term. Johnny went home. He did not kick the dust any more. He walked very steadily and staidly. When he came in sight of the old Colonial mansion, with its massive veranda pillars, he felt chilly. How- ever, he went on. He passed around to the south door and entered and smelled shortcake. It would have smelled delicious had he not had so much on his mind. He looked through the hall, and had a glimpse of his uncle Jonathan in the study, writing. At the right of the door was his father's office. The door