Part 4 (1/2)
”Well, the circ.u.mstances being as they are, and being really a thief, you mustn't ask me to tell my real name; for all I know you may be a detective in disguise.”
”I'm not--really,” she said--he found her ”reallys” increasingly enchanting.
”You might call me Friar Tuck or Little John. I'm travelling with Robin Hood, you remember.”
”Mr. Tuck--that will be splendid!”
”And now that you know my name it's only fair to tell me yours.”
”Pierrette,” she answered.
”Not really!”
His unconscious imitation of her manner of uttering this phrase evoked another merry laugh.
”Yes, really,” she answered.
”And you live somewhere, of course--not in the tree up there with your moon, but in the bungalow, I suppose.”
”I live wherever I am; that's the fun of playing all the time,” she replied evasively. ”_Poste restante_, the Little Dipper. How do you like that?”
”But just now your true domicile is the bungalow?” he persisted.
”Oh, I've been stopping there for a few days, that's all. I haven't any home--not really,” she added as though she found her homelessness the happiest of conditions. She snapped her fingers and recited:
”Wherever stars s.h.i.+ne brightest, there my home shall be, In the murmuring forest or by the sounding sea, With overhead the green bough and underfoot the gra.s.s, Where only dreams and b.u.t.terflies ever dare to pa.s.s!”
”Is that Keats or Blake?” he ventured timidly.
”It's _me_, you goose! But it's only an imitation--why, Stevenson, of course, and pretty punk as you ought to know. Gracious!”
She jumped down from the wall, on the side toward the bungalow, and stared up at the tree she had embellished with her moon.
”The moon's gone out, and I've got to go _in_!”
”Please, before you go, when can I see you again?”
”Who knows!” she exclaimed unsympathetically; but she waited as though pondering the matter.
”But I must see you again!” he persisted.
”Oh, I shouldn't say that it was wholly essential to your happiness--or mine! I can't meet burglars--socially!”
”Burglars! But I'm not--” he cried protestingly.
She bent toward him with one hand extended pleadingly.
”Don't say it! Don't _say_ it! If you say you're _not_, you won't be any fun any more!”
”Well, then we'll say I am--a terrible freebooter--a bold, bad pirate,”