“I had a little time before dinner, and thought I’d run up and hear your bird. You know, he’s never sung to me yet.”
“Maybe he won’t now,” returned Doodles anxiously. “He doesn’t like rainy days, and then he got so scared yesterday.”
A query brought out an account of the afternoon’s excitement, for the boy was still brimful of it. The visitor was a sympathetic listener, and the story as told by Doodles was worth hearing.
“So you’ve found a name for him!” remarked the young man presently, after they had used up all the praiseful adjectives for Thomas Fitzpatrick.
“Yes, Dolly Rose did it!” cried Doodles gleefully. “That is she thought of it first; then Blue came in with it, too—wasn’t that funny? Do you know Dolly Rose?”
“I think not—who is she?”
“Why, she lives right next door to you,” exclaimed Doodles. “She’s just as pretty! She’s got red cheeks and lovely blue eyes—exactly like the sky, and the cunningest little curls in her hair. Haven’t you ever seen her?”
“Yes, I guess I have—from the description; but I didn’t know her name.”
“You’d like her, she’s so sweet. She brought me some flowers one day, and a peach another time. And she has the dearest little dimples when she smiles—I always want to kiss them! Don’t you like dimples?”
“I guess so,” laughed Mr. Gaylord. “They always remind me—”