"What's wrong?" asked Phares again as Phœbe hung her head and remained silent.
"Ach," laughed David, "somebody's broke her dolly."
"Nobody ain't not broke my dolly, David Eby!" she said crossly. "I wouldn't cry for that!"
"What's wrong then?—come on, Phœbe." He pushed the sunbonnet back and patted her roguishly on the head. But she drew away from him.
"Don't you touch me," she cried. "I'm a Dutchie!"
"What?"
She tossed her head and became silent again.
"Come on, tell me," coaxed David. "I want to know what's wrong. Why, if you don't tell me I'll be so worried I won't be able to eat any dinner, and I'm so hungry now I could eat nails."
The girl laughed suddenly in spite of herself—"Ach, David, you're awful simple! Abody has to laugh at you. I was mad, for when I was in Greenwald I was smellin' a rose, that pink rose you gave me, and some lady on Mollie Stern's porch laughed at me and called me a Little Dutchie! Now wouldn't you got mad for that?"
But David threw back his head and laughed. "And you were ready to cry at that?" he said. "Why, I'm a Dutchie, so is Phares, so's most of the people round here. Ain't so, Phares?"
