“I am sorry I did that, Rose,” interrupted Charlie quickly. “I am, truly. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Once more the little hand stole around the chair-back and crept into his own. Charlie did not drop it this time. “You said it!” cried Rose. “Oh, Charlie! I am so glad! Now we can go down to supper.”
Charlie stared. “Said it? What do you mean? What have I said?”
“Why, you said It; that you were sorry,” cried Rose, clapping her hands. “So it is all right now.”
Charlie looked rather silly. “I—I didn’t mean to say it,” he faltered. “I said I would never say it, and I meant what I said. But I am sorry, and now I am glad I said I was.” This sounded very queer, but Rose knew what he meant, and was quite satisfied.
At this moment the door opened and Charlie’s mamma appeared, looking anxious.
“Oh, here you are, Rose, my child,” she said. “Who would have thought to find you here! I was so worried. We have been looking for you all over the place. Have you been here all this beautiful afternoon, you poor little thing?” She looked reproachfully at Charlie.
“I wanted to stay here,” said Rose cheerfully. “But I am glad it is time to come out now.”
“Come, then, Dearie; you must be very hungry,” said Charlie’s mother, taking Rose’s hand and leading her towards the door. But Rose hung back.
“You come too, Charlie,” she smiled.