But I acted real innocent and like my feelings was hurt, and he believed me.

Purty soon he says, cheerful like: "There was a girl talking to you to-day, Danny." "Mebby they was," I says, "and mebby they wasn't." But I felt my face getting red all the same, and was mad because it did.

He grinned kind of aggervating at me and says some poetry at me about in the spring a young man's frenzy likely turns to thoughts of love.
"Well," I says, kind of sheepish-like, "this is summer-time, and purty nigh autumn." Then I seen I'd jest as good as owned up I liked Martha, and was kind of mad at myself fur that.

But I told him some more about her, too.

Somehow I jest couldn't help it.