“Well, you’re no beauty,” quoth the doctor, drawing her down from her hiding-place, and holding her on his arm to stroke her; “and you’re nothing to cry over, lost or found.”
Dr. Willett put her into Inna’s arms, where [p111] the little thing nestled, as if she knew her rightful place already.
“I didn’t cry over the kitten, uncle; I cried over Oscar,” said the little girl.
Mr. Barlow had drawn Oscar from the room and himself stayed with him, to keep him there.
“Where is Oscar?—it isn’t a dream, is it?” and Inna’s eyes swept the room.
“Dream? no, my dear; he was here just now. Isn’t it his rightful place?” spoke the doctor drily.
“Yes, only—only——”
“Ah! yes, only you want to know where he has been, what he has been doing, and what right he had to come back in this matter-of-fact way, when you had been imagining all sorts of unlikely things about him; and so you cried over it, to give the whole thing the girl-like touch it lacked. Ha—ha!”
This was Mr. Barlow’s speech, putting his head in at the kitchen door, to see how they were getting on.
“Yes, come in, both of you,” said the doctor, that sorrowful gravity lifted from his face already.