"Why, it's a little boy! And a crutch—oh, dear!" Dickie sat up. The little crutch, which was lying corner-wise above him in the hamper, jerked out and rattled on the floor.
"Well, I never did—never!" said another voice. "Come out, dearie; don't be frightened."
"How kind people are!" Dickie thought, and reached his hands to slender white hands that were held out to him. A lady in black—her figure was as slender as her hands—drew him up, put her arms round him, and lifted him on to a black bentwood chair.
His eyes, turning swiftly here and there, showed him that he was in a shop—a shop full of flowers and fruit.
"Mr. Rosenberg," said the slender lady—"oh, do come here, please! This extra hamper——"
A dark, handsome, big-nosed man came towards them.
"It's a dear little boy," said the slender lady, who had a pale, kind face, dark eyes, and very red lips.
"It'th a practical joke, I shuppothe," said the dark man. "Our gardening friend wanth a liththon: and I'll thee he getth it."
"It wasn't his fault," said Dickie, wriggling earnestly in his high chair; "it was my fault. I fell asleep."
The girls crowded round him with questions and caresses.