Winnie stood up, embarrassed and, because of that, resentful. “I didn’t mean to watch you,” she protested as she stepped into the clearing. “I didn’t know anyone would be here.”

The boy eyed her as she came forward. “What’re you doing here?” he asked her sternly.

“It’s my wood,” said Winnie, surprised by the question. “I can come here whenever I want to. At least, I was never here before, but I could have come, anytime.”

“Oh,” said the boy, relaxing a little. “You’re one of the Fosters, then.”

“I’m Winnie,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jesse Tuck,” he answered. “How do.” And he put out a hand.

Winnie took his hand, staring at him. He was even more beautiful up close. “Do you live nearby?” she managed at last, letting go of his hand reluctantly. “I never saw you before. Do you come here a lot? No one’s supposed to. It’s our wood.” Then she added quickly, “It’s all right, though, if you come here. I mean, it’s all right with me.”

The boy grinned. “No, I don’t live nearby, and no, I don’t come here often. Just passing through. And thanks, I’m glad it’s all right with you.”

“That’s good,” said Winnie irrelevantly. She stepped back and sat down primly a short distance from him. “How old are you, anyway?” she asked, squinting at him.

There was a pause. At last he said, “Why do you want to know?”

“I just wondered,” said Winnie.

“All right. I’m one hundred and four years old,” he told her solemnly.

“No, I mean really,” she persisted.

“Well then,” he said, “if you must know, I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh,” said Winnie hopelessly. “Seventeen. That’s old.”

“You have no idea,” he agreed with a nod.

Winnie had the feeling he was laughing at her, but decided it was a nice kind of laughing. “Are you married?” she asked next.

This time he laughed out loud. “No, I’m not married. Are you?”

Now it was Winnie’s turn to laugh. “Of course not,” she said. “I’m only ten. But I’ll be eleven pretty soon.”

“And then you’ll get married,” he suggested.

Winnie laughed again, her head on one side, admiring him. And then she pointed to the spurt of water. “Is that good to drink?” she asked. “I’m thirsty.”

Jesse Tuck’s face was instantly serious. “Oh, that. No—no, it’s not,” he said quickly. “You mustn’t drink from it. Comes right up out of the ground. Probably pretty dirty.” And he began to pile the pebbles over it again.

“But you drank some,” Winnie reminded him.

“Oh. Did you see that?” He looked at her anxiously. “Well, me, I’ll drink anything. I mean, I’m used to it. It wouldn’t be good for you, though.”

“Why not?” said Winnie. She stood up. “It’s mine, anyway, if it’s in the wood. I want some. I’m about dry as dust.” And she went to where he sat, and knelt down beside the pile of pebbles.

“Believe me, Winnie Foster,” said Jesse, “it would be terrible for you if you drank any of this water. Just terrible. I can’t let you.”