“Come here--please--won't you?” she said pleasantly. It would have been impossible to resist her voice if Leonidas had wanted to, which he didn't. He walked confidently up to the fence. She really was very pretty, with eyes like his setter's, and as caressing. And there were little puckers and satiny creases around her delicate nostrils and mouth when she spoke, which Leonidas knew were “expression.” “I--I”--she began, with charming hesitation; then suddenly, “What's your name?” “Leonidas.” “Leonidas! That's a pretty name!” He thought it DID sound pretty. “Well, Leonidas, I want you to be a good boy and do a great favor for me,--a very great favor.” Leonidas's face fell. This kind of prelude and formula was familiar to him. It was usually followed by, “Promise me that you will never swear again,” or, “that you will go straight home and wash your face,” or some other irrelevant personality. But nobody with that sort of eyes had ever said it. So he said, a little shyly but sincerely, “Yes, ma'am.” “You are going to the post-office?” This seemed a very foolish, womanish question, seeing that he was holding letters in his hand; but he said, “Yes.” “I want you to put a letter of mine among yours and post them all together,” she said, putting one little hand to her bosom and drawing out a letter. He noticed that she purposely held the addressed side so that he could not see it, but he also noticed that her hand was small, thin, and white, even to a faint tint of blue in it, unlike his sister's, the baby's, or any other hand he had ever seen. “Can you read?” she said suddenly, withdrawing the letter. The boy flushed slightly at the question. “Of course I can,” he said proudly. “Of course, certainly,” she repeated quickly; “but,” she added, with a mischievous smile, “you mustn't NOW! Promise me! Promise me that you won't read this address, but just post the letter, like one of your own, in the letter-box with the others.” Leonidas promised readily; it seemed to him a great fuss about nothing; perhaps it was some kind of game or a bet. He opened his sunburnt hand, holding his own letters, and she slipped hers, face downward, between them. Her soft fingers touched his in the operation, and seemed to leave a pleasant warmth behind them. “Promise me another thing,” she added; “promise me you won't say a word of this to any one.” “Of course!” said Leonidas. “That's a good boy, and I know you will keep your word.” She hesitated a moment, smilingly and tentatively, and then held out a bright half-dollar. Leonidas backed from the fence. “I'd rather not,” he said shyly. “But as a present from ME?” Leonidas colored--he was really proud; and he was also bright enough to understand that the possession of such unbounded wealth would provoke dangerous inquiry at home. But he didn't like to say it, and only replied, “I can't.”