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Gideon stretched out a broad hand and touched her head lightly; and with a tiny gasp her fingers stole up to his.

“Honey,” said Gideon—”Honey, yo’ ain’ mad, is yo’?”

She shook her head, not looking at him.

“Yo’ ain’ grievin’ foh yo’ ma?”

Again she shook her head.

“Because,” said Gideon, smiling down at her, “I ain’ got no beeg club like she has.”

A soft and smothered giggle answered him, and this time Vashti looked up and laid her head against him with a small sigh of contentment.

Gideon felt very tender, very important, at peace with himself and all the world. He rounded a jutting point, and stretched out a black hand, pointing.