“I don’t believe the Gray Gentleman ever fools. He means things. He’s made us children think a lot. More’n we ever did before. And he says things mean things, too, every single one. Even ‘Father George,’ and the lion, and Max, and—and everything.”
After this exhausting speech Bonny-Gay removed her hat and laid it upon the grass, where Mary Jane regarded it admiringly. It was so pretty she would have liked to touch it, just once. The hat’s owner saw the admiration, and remarked:
“Put it on, Mary Jane. See if it will fit you.”
“Oh! I daren’t!” gasped the other. “I might hurt it.”
Bonny-Gay lifted the hat and placed it upon the cripple’s dark head, which was held perfectly motionless, while the face beneath the brim took on an expression of bewildered happiness.
“My! ain’t it lovely! I should think you’d want to wear it all the time!”
“I don’t, then. I like my ‘Tam’ better, and nothing best of all. You can wear it as long as I stay, if you wish.”
“That’s good of you. Some of the other girls wouldn’t even let me touch their best hats, they wouldn’t.”
“Must be selfish things, then. How old are you, Mary Jane?”
“How’d you know my name? and what’s yours?”