"Yes, that's so. And they get slathers of money — most a dollar a day, Ben Rogers says. Say, Becky, was you ever engaged?"
"What's that?"
"Why, engaged to be married."
"No."
"Would you like to?"
"I reckon so. I don't know. What is it like?"
"Like? Why it ain't like anything. You only just tell a boy you won't ever have anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that's all. Anybody can do it."
"Kiss? What do you kiss for?"
"Why, that, you know, is to — well, they always do that."
"Everybody?"
"Why, yes, everybody that's in love with each other. Do you remember what I wrote on the slate?"
"Ye — yes."
"What was it?"
"I sha'n't tell you."
"Shall I tell YOU?"
"Ye — yes — but some other time."
"No, now."
"No, not now — to-morrow."
"Oh, no, NOW. Please, Becky — I'll whisper it, I'll whisper it ever so easy."
Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her ear. And then he added:
"Now you whisper it to me — just the same."
