“We’ve got visitors from the city tew our house,” he announced. “They want you to send Janey over tew play with their little gal.”
Befitting the honor of the occasion, Janey was attired in her blue-sprigged muslin and allowed to wear the turquoises. David drove her to Maplewood, the pretentious home of the Randalls, intending to call for her later. When they came to the entrance of the grounds at the end of a long avenue of maples a very tiny girl, immaculate in white, with hair of gold and eyes darkly blue, came out from among the trees. She regarded David with deep, grave eyes as he stepped from the wagon to open the gate.
“You’ve come to play with me,” she stated in a tone of assurance.
“I’ve brought Janey to play with you,” he 100 rejoined, indicating his little companion. “If you’ll get in the wagon, I’ll drive you up to the house.”
She held up her slender little arms to him, and David felt as if he were lifting a doll.
“My name in Carey Winthrop. What is yours?” she demanded of Janey as they all rode up the shaded, graveled road.
“Janey Brumble,” replied the visitor, gaining ease from the ingenuousness of the little girl and from the knowledge that she was older than her hostess.
“And he’s your brother?” indicating David.
“He’s my adopted brother,” said Janey; “he’s David Dunne.”
“I wish I had a ’dopted brother,” sighed the little girl, eying David wistfully.