Rudyard Kipling 13 “Because I am going away.” “Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say — will you?” A second “darling” came to his lips more easily than the first. There were few endearments in Dick’s home or school life; he had to find them by instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of the revolver. “I promise,” she said solemnly; “but if I care there is no need for promising.” “And do you care?” For the first time in the past few minutes their eyes met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech. ... “Oh, Dick, don’t! Please don’t! It was all right when we said good-morning; but now it’s all different!” Amomma looked on from afar. He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen kisses exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its head approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it was the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that either had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every one of them glorious, so that they were lifted above the consideration of any worlds at all, especially those in which tea is necessary, and sat still, holding each other’s hands and saying not a word. “You can’t forget now,” said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek that stung more than gunpowder. “T shouldn’t have forgotten anyhow,” said Maisie, and they looked at each other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour ago to a wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began to set, and a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. “We shall be awfully late for tea,” said Maisie. “Let’s go home.” “Let’s use the rest of the cartridges first,” said Dick;