With a long, flowering branch in her hand, she was walking up and down the driveway, looking more like a doll than anything else, in her dainty frock, her white socks, and bronze slippers.
"Sing a song o' sixpence, A pocket full of rye,—"
"Oh, YOU, YOU—wait for me!" In her wrath, the wee girl had forgotten his name.
Gyp stood still, and waited, open mouthed, while Dollie ran toward him.
He thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and wondered that she wished to speak to him.
"You naughty, BAD boy!" she cried, striking at him with the flowering branch. "Naughty, BAD boy! You bring it back to me!"
Again the flowers hit him, but they gave nothing worse than a love pat.
"What'll I bring ye?" he asked awkwardly, "I ain't got anything you'd want. Ye look like them fairies I've read 'bout."
[Illustration with caption: "Ye've lost yer dolly, hev ye?">[
"DIDN'T you take my best doll?" she asked, her anger gone, and her red lips trembling.