“Red as roses! And her eyes are blue—blue as—”
“The sky in the morning, when it’s cold!” Doodles helped out.
“Ye’ve got it exactly! And she’s a slim little thing?”
“My, yes, I guess she is!”
They were two excited children, each eager for one more word of evidence that should make the proof sure.
“She has the dearest dimples!” Doodles cried.
The old man nodded smilingly. “Seem’s if it must be Dolly,” he quavered. “Ther’ wouldn’t be two. Her name’s Dorothy Rosetta, an’ she prob’ly just called it Rose, so Zenas couldn’t find her—that’s what! My little Dolly! And to think how near I came to missing her after all!” His voice tottered along the brink of tears, then something glistened on his coat, and Doodles politely looked out of the window.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he remarked presently, not turning his head. “Dolly will be sure to come home this noon; she always does when it’s pleasant.” As there was no response, he went on. “She found Caruso his name. Caruso’s my bird—my mocking bird, you know. Dolly named him after the real Caruso. And, oh, she went to hear him, with Mr. Gaylord!”
A pleased chuckle made Doodles turn round. “So she’s caught a city beau already!” Grandpa Moon was saying. “She’d never be long without one, she’s that pretty.”
“I guess he’s a beau,” Doodles responded, “he’s lovely anyway. They went to a moving picture show, too. Oh, they looked so nice together! You ought to see ’em! He brought her some beautiful flowers, and she gave me some.”