Anyhow, I didn’t think I’d like it. Guess I’ll go now, though.”
“Can’t you read?” asked Emily wonderingly.
“Yes—some—and figger. Dad learned me some when he was alive. I hain’t bothered with it since—I’d ruther be down round the harbour. Great fun there. But if I make up my mind to go to school I’ll learn like thunder. I s’pose you’re awful clever.”
“No—not very. Father said I was a genius, but Aunt Elizabeth says I’m just queer.”
“What’s a genius?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes it’s a person who writes poetry. I write poetry.”
Perry stared at her.
“Golly. I’ll write poetry too, then.”
“I don’t believe you could write poetry,” said Emily—a little disdainfully, it must be admitted. “Teddy can’t—and he’s very clever.”
“Who’s Teddy?”
“A friend of mine.” There was just a trace of stiffness in Emily’s voice.
“Then,” said Perry, folding his arms across his breast and scowling, “I’m going to punch this friend of yours’ head for him.”
“You’re not,” cried Emily. She was very indignant and quite forgot for the moment that Perry had rescued her from the bull. She tossed her own head and started homeward. Perry turned too.
“May as well go up and see Jimmy Murray about hiring ’fore I go home,” he said. “Don’t be mad, now. If you don’t want anybody’s head punched I won’t punch it. Only you’ve gotter like me, too.”
“Why, of course I’ll like you,” said Emily, as if there could be no question about it. She smiled her slow, blossoming smile at Perry and thereby reduced him to hopeless bondage.
Two days later Perry Miller was installed as chore
