Free Lo Michael! by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

impatiently, softly stamping her daintily shod foot. “He did that because of what you did for him in saving my life. I should like to do something to thank you for what you did for me . I'm worth something to myself you know. Isn't there something I could do for you.”
    She stood still, looking up into his face anxiously, her vivid childish beauty seeming to catch all the brightness of the place and focus it upon him. The two men had passed out of the further door and on to the recitation rooms. The girl and boy were alone for the moment.
    “You have done something for me, you did a great deal,” he said, his voice almost husky with boyish tenderness. “I think it was the greatest thing that anybody ever did for me.”
    “I did something for you! When? What?” questioned Starr curiously.
    “Yes,” he said, “you did a great thing for me. Maybe you don't remember it, but I do. It was when I was getting well from the shot there at your house, and your nurse used to bring you up to play with me every day; and always before you went away, you used to kiss me. I've never forgotten that.”
    He said it quite simply as if it were a common thing for a boy to say to a girl. His voice was low as though the depths of his soul were stirred.
    A flood of pretty color came into Starr's cheeks.
    “Oh!” she said quite embarrassed at the turn of the conversation, “but that was when I was a baby. I couldn't do that now. Girls don't kiss boys you know. It wouldn't be considered proper.”
    “I know,” said Michael, his own color heightening now, “I didn't mean that. I wanted you to know how much you had done for me already. You don't know what it is never to have been kissed by your mother, or any living soul. Nobody ever kissed me in all my life that I know of but you.”
    He looked down at the little girl with such a grave, sweet expression, his eyes so expressive of the long lonely years without woman's love, that child though she was Starr seemed to understand, and her whole young soul went forth in pity. Tears sprang to her eyes.
    “Oh!” she said, “That is dreadful! Oh!—I don't care if it isn't proper—”
    And before he knew what she was about to do the little girl tilted to her tiptoes, put up her dainty hands, caught him about the neck and pressed a warm eager kiss on his lips. Then she sprang away frightened, sped across the room, and through the opposite door.
    Michael stood still in a bewilderment of joy for the instant. The compelling of her little hands, the pressure of her fresh lips still lingered with him. A flood tide of glory swept over his whole being. There were tears in his eyes, but he did not know it. He stood with bowed head as though in a holy place. Nothing so sacred, so beautiful, had ever come into his life. Her baby kisses had been half unconscious. This kiss was given of her own free will, because she wanted to do something for him. He did not attempt to understand the wonderful joy that surged through his heart and pulsed in every fibre of his being. His lonely, unloved life was enough to account for it, and he was only a boy with a brief knowledge of life; but he knew enough to enshrine that kiss in his heart of hearts as a holy thing, not even to be thought about carelessly.
    When he roused himself to follow her she had disappeared. Her father and the president were listening to a recitation, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had gone to her own room. Michael went down by himself in a thicket by the lake.
    She met him shyly at dinner, with averted gaze and a glow on her cheeks, as if half afraid of what she had done, but he reassured her with his eyes. His glance seemed to promise he would never take advantage of what she had done. His face wore an exalted look, as if he had been lifted above earth, and Starr, looking at him wonderingly, was glad she had followed her impulse.
    They took a horseback ride to the college grove that afternoon, Mr. Endicott, one of the professors, Starr