"Aw! come on," persisted Dunlop.
Anne stood silent.
The memory of his former encounter with her stubborn dignity came back to Dunlop. He said, rather sullenly, "How do you do? and take off your hat. But I don't know your name."
"My name is Anne Lewis," said his guest. "And this is Honey-Sweet. I know your name. Martha told me. You are Dunlop Marshall. Your little brother's name is Arthur. What a soft, curly, white little dog!"
"'At's my Fluffles," explained Arthur.
"Do you know any more stories, Anne Lewis?" inquired Dunlop. "Martha said she 'spected you didn't."
"Yes, I do."
"How many?"
"O—oh! I don't know. Many as I want to make up. I'm playing a story now while I wash dishes—this is my dining-room week. I pretend that a funny little dwarf climbed the beanstalk with Jack—and when the giant tumbled down he stayed up there in the giant's castle. Do you want to hear that story?"
"You bet! Tell on," said Dunlop—and then added, as an afterthought, "please."