Once he looked out of the door and saw her leaning against the neck of the pony, her face hidden in his mane.

When the sun was low she came to the door and said: "You had better stop now and go home." She looked down at the ground and added: "Please, please, don't tell on me." "Of course not," he answered.

"But I hope you won't be afraid of me any more." She looked up at him with a little smile.

"Do you think I'm afraid of _you_ ?" she asked as if it were too absurd to be thought of.

She unhitched and mounted her pony but did not go.
"I do wish you could raise a mustache," she said, looking wistfully into his face.
Involuntarily his hand went to his lip.
"I could try," he said.
"I can't bear to see you look so terribly young; you get worse and worse every time I see you," she scolded plaintively.