I wish you wouldn't talk so, Abby." "He would want you if your were a rich girl, and your father was boss instead of a workman," said Abby.
Then she caught hold of Ellen's arm and pressed her own thin one in its dark-blue cotton sleeve lovingly against it.
"You ain't mad with me, are you, Ellen ?" she said, with that indescribable gentleness tempering her fierceness of nature which gave her caresses the fascination of some little, untamed animal.
Ellen pressed her round young arm tenderly against the other.
"I think more of you than any man I know," said she, fervently.

"I think more of you than anybody except father and mother, Abby." The two girls walked on with locked arms, and each was possessed with that wholly artless and ignorant passion often seen between two young girls.

Abby felt Ellen's warm round arm against hers with a throbbing of rapture, and glanced at her fair face with adoration.
She held her in a sort of worship, she loved her so that she was fairly afraid of her.

As for Ellen, Abby's little, leather-stained, leather-scented figure, strung with passion like a bundle of electric wire, pressing against her, seemed to inform her farthest thoughts.
"If I live longer than my father and mother, we'll live together, Abby," said she.
"And I'll work for you, Ellen," said Abby, rapturously.
"I guess you won't do all the work," said Ellen.

She gazed tenderly into Abby's little, dark, thin face.