"Yes. Or if you aren't you ought to be." He frowned at that, a little puzzled. "Where do you come from?" he asked. "I can't see how that can possibly be any business of yours." "H-m. How did you get in here?" "I followed my nose. How did you?" "I--I--I belong here." "It's an asylum, isn't it?" she asked quite coolly. "N--no." Jerry missed the irony. "Not at all. I live here. It's my place. You--you're the first woman that ever got in here, and I can't imagine how you did it. I--I don't want to be impolite, but I'm afraid you'll have to go at once." The sound of her laughter was most disconcerting. Jerry had no lack of a sense of humor and yet there was nothing that he could see to laugh at. "That's very amusing," she said. "A moment ago you were going to throw me over the wall and now you're afraid you're impolite." Jerry found himself smiling in spite of himself. "I--I don't suppose I really meant that," he muttered. "What? Throwing me over the wall or being polite?" He looked rather bewildered, I think, at the inanity of her conversation. Jerry wasn't much given to small talk. "I'm sorry you don't think I'm polite. I--I'm not used to talking to women. They're too fussy about trifles. What does it matter--" "I don't call throwing a female visitor over a wall a trifle," she broke in. "And it isn't quite hospitable. Now is it?" Jerry rubbed his head and regarded her seriously. "Now that you mention it, I don't suppose it is. But nobody asked you. You just came. Didn't you see the trespass signs?" "Oh, yes, they're all about," she said carelessly, as she picked up her tin specimen-box and turned away. "I didn't mean to stay. I followed a butterfly. He came in the iron railings, where the stream goes through the wall. I crawled under where the iron is bent. If you're afraid of women you'd better have it fixed." "Afraid!" It was one word that Jerry detested. "Afraid! That's funny. Do you think I'm afraid of _you_?" "Yes," she replied, eyeing him critically. "I rather think you are." "Well, I--I'm not. It would take more than a woman to make _me_ afraid." Something in the turn of the phrase and tone of voice made her turn and examine him with a new interest. "You're a queer boy," she said. "How--queer?" he muttered. "You look and act as though you'd never seen a girl before." If he had known women better he wouldn't have believed that she meant what she said. As it was, her wizardry astounded him. "How can you tell that?" She was now regarding him wide-eyed in amazement. "It's true, then?" she gasped. "Yes, it's true. You're the first girl that I remember having seen. But what difference does that make? Why should I be afraid of you? You couldn't hurt a flea. You can talk pretty well, but talk never killed anybody." She seemed stricken suddenly dumb and regarded him with an air which to anyone but Jerry would have shown her as discomfited as he.