“Blue, me dear,” Granny was saying, “if ye be down to Mis’ Flaherty’s befure dinner, will ye fetch me a loaf? Ye’ll find a nickel in th’ cup on th’ shilf there. Ye’re a good b’y, Blue—none knows ut betther ’n mesilf, with ye always runnin’ here an’ there an’ savin’ me old legs!”
Mrs. Flaherty, proprietor of the little corner bakery, tore a piece from an old “Morning News” that lay on the counter, and wrapped the bread in it.
On the end of the package the boy spied a picture. He did not care for pictures, but Doodles did. He was always carrying home gay cards, hand-bills, and stray sheets from illustrated papers that blew his way. So he begged the wrapper from Granny, and carried it upstairs to his brother. Then he sauntered along the corridor to the recently vacated apartment, and lingered searchingly over the litter that was there, vaguely hoping to find an answer to his puzzle. But the bits of paper and the empty boxes, the broken plates and fragments of cloth told no secrets, and he finally closed the door softly and went back to Doodles.
“Oh, come here quick!” cried his brother. “I thought you’d gone away. Just look at that!” He held out the newspaper which had wrapped Granny’s bread, and pointed to a picture.
“Yes, it’s pretty,” Blue responded indifferently.
“No, no!” protested Doodles, his eyes big with excitement, “don’t you see?”
“Why, no, I don’t see anything very wonderful—nothing but a kid’s picture.”
“Oh!” the voice dropped to an eager breath, “it’s the little girl in there!—that was!” He nodded towards Dolly Moon’s door.
“Wh—what?” It was Blue’s turn, as with astonishment he scanned the picture. “I b’lieve it is!” he ejaculated softly. “But how—”
“I knew her in a minute!” Doodles broke in. “Only her hair is light there and she’s dressed so different.”