"Maybe it would be better," said the boy. Then he added, with a curious sort of naive slyness, "But I haven't said I didn't have any elephant." "That's so," said Anderson. Suddenly, as the two walked along, the man felt a hard, hot little hand slide into his. "I guess you must be an awful smart man," said the boy. "What is your name?" said Anderson, in lieu of a disclaimer, which somehow he felt would seem to savor of mock modesty in the face of this youthful enthusiasm. "Why, don't you know?" asked the boy, in some wonder. "I thought everybody knew who we were. I am Captain Carroll's son. My name is Eddy Carroll." "I knew you were Captain Carroll's son, but I did not know your first name." "I knew you," said the boy. "I saw you out in the field catching butterflies." "Where were you?" "Oh, I was fishing. I was under those willows by the brook. I kept pretty still, and you didn't see me. Have to lay low while you're fishing, you know." "Of course," said Anderson. "I didn't catch anything. I don't believe fish are very thick in the brooks around here. I used to catch great big fellers when I lived in Hillfield. One day--" "When do you have your dinner at home?" broke in Anderson. "'Most any time. Say, Mr. Anderson, what are you going to have for dinner?" Anderson happened to know quite well what he was going to have for dinner, because he had himself ordered it on the way to the store that morning. He answered at once: "Roast lamb and green pease and new potatoes," said he. "Oh!" said the boy, with unmistakable emphasis. "And I am quite sure there is going to be a cherry-dumpling for dessert," said Anderson, reflectively. "I like all those things," stated the boy, with emphasis that was pathetic. The man stopped and looked down at the boy. "Now, see here, my friend," said he. "Honest, now, no dodging. Never mind if you do like things. Honest--you can't cheat me, you know--" The boy looked back at him with eyes of profound simplicity and faith. "I know it," he replied. "Well, then, now you tell me, honest, if you do stay and have dinner with me won't your folks, your mother and your sisters, worry?" The boy's face, which had been rather anxious, cleared at once. "Oh no, sir!" he replied. "Amy never worries, and Ina and Charlotte won't." "Who is Amy?" "Amy? Why, Amy is my mother, of course." "And you are sure she won't worry?" "Oh no, sir." The boy fairly laughed at the idea. His honesty in this at least seemed unmistakable. "Well, then," said Anderson, "come along and have dinner with me." The boy fairly leaped with delight as, still clinging to the man's hand, he passed up the little walk to the Anderson house. He could smell the roast lamb and the green pease. Chapter VII