When Margery parted from them later in the afternoon Janet made her solemnly promise that henceforward she would consider Willie Jones as dirt beneath her feet. It was neither the time nor the place for Margery to ask herself whether she really wished to make such a promise, for, in the presence of so fiery an apostle of female rights, her private inclinations simply shriveled to fine ashes and blew away. "Of course," murmured Margery meekly, "of course I'll never speak to him again." "That's right!" Janet declared. "He don't deserve it." "And say, Margery," Rosie O'Brien begged, in parting, "come down to East Maplewood again some afternoon, won't you? I start on my paper route at half past three--you know where. I'd love to have you come again." "I'll come if I can, Rosie--honest, I will. Both of you have been just as nice to me! Good-by." Margery trudged homeward, feeling tired and a little down-hearted. Janet McFadden was entirely right: Willie Jones was a villain and a rogue. But, even so, wasn't it rather a pity to end things forever, after all the good times they had once had together? Dear, dear! In a maleless world, justice to ladies would no doubt prevail; but, alas, alas, in such a world the ladies who enjoy male society would probably feel a bit lonesome. "Say, Margery, hold on a minute!" The voice was unmistakable, but Margery did not turn her head. "Say, Margery, I'm awfully sorry--honest, I am. I was only fooling." There he was, just as Janet said he would be. Janet knew. So far as Margery herself was concerned, she would just as soon make friends, but she had promised Janet, and she must keep her word. Heigho! "And lookee here, Margery, here are all your jaw-breakers. I ain't et one--honest, I ain't." Margery looked, and, lo, in his hand lay four jaw-breakers, three of them as black and shiny as the moment they had left the little candy store, the fourth sucked down only to the pink. "I couldn't help tasting one of them, Margery, but I only sucked it a few minutes--honest, I did. And here," Willie Jones continued, offering her a little bag, "is a cake I bought for you with my last cent." "Oh, Willie, did you really?" "You just got to take it, Margery. I want you to. I'm awful sorry I was so mean to you, but, don't you know, when that old Janet McFadden butted in, I just couldn't help it. I always did hate a girl like her! But I was going to give you your nickel, all right. I meant to all along. Of course I did! Wasn't it your nickel?" "Oh, Willie, and did you really buy that cake for me with your own cent, and you didn't eat up all my jaw-breakers?" "Of course you know I was just fooling about that nickel, don't you, Margery?" There is no telling what Margery really knew down deep in her heart, and it didn't in the least matter. All that mattered now was this: Here was Willie Jones, genuinely ashamed of what he had done, and man enough to say so. Margery forgave him instantly.