“Suppose, dearie, you sing a bit now,” he suggested. “I must be getting on.”
“Oh, I forgot!” exclaimed Doodles in compunction.
“Only an Armour-Bearer” was succeeded by “Jerusalem, the Golden,” which proved to be one of the visitor’s favorites.
“Mother likes that,” confided Doodles, as he rested from his singing; “it reminds her so of Uncle Jim. Once, when he was a little boy, there was company to stay over night, a minister and his wife named Hall. Before they went to bed they sung some hymns; Grandmother Blue played on the melodeon, and the rest stood around back of her. When they came to that line, ‘They stand, those halls of Zion,’ Jim nudged mother, and pointed to Mr. and Mrs. Hall, and she giggled right out! Nobody noticed it much, they were singing so loud; but she was dreadfully mortified.”
Mr. Moon laughed with Doodles, then, after thanking him for his singing, he arose to his unsteady feet.
“If I don’t find her to-day, I think I’ll have to stay over till to-morrow,” he said quaveringly; “seems’s if I couldn’t go back without my little Dolly!”
“Dolly?” repeated Doodles, his eyes round with wonder. “Dolly, did you say?”
“Why, yes, of course, Dolly!” The voice was sharp with pain and something akin to impatience.
“You never said her name was Dolly!” breathed the boy reproachfully, trying to follow out the sudden possible clue. “But she’s Dolly Rose!” he added, with a little shake of his head.
“Child! child! what are you talking about?”