Before she could be stopped, Mary Jane hopped across the room and down to the door. Mr. McClure rose with considerable noise and approached the cot. He had been deeply touched by the fact that neither of the two innocently dreaming “Sunday bairns” had planned anything for her own especial gratification. The witness of such unselfishness was refreshing in a world such as that wherein most of his waking hours were passed.
“Well, little woman, how goes it? Getting well, fast?”
Bonny-Gay held up her arms to be loved.
“Fine, father dear. It won’t be long before I’m out in the park again, watching for you to come home from business.”
They found so much to say to each other that they quite forgot Mary Jane; who had, indeed, swung across the square to intercept the path of her friend. She had something of her own to say to the Gray Gentleman besides delivering her playmate’s message. She was in trouble and knew that he would help her in some way too wise for her to think of.
“Well, upon my word! If here isn’t Mary Jane! I thought I heard a cheerful little clicke-e-ty-click, such as only one small energetic body could make. What’s it now, Miss Bump?”
“I’d like to talk to you, please.”
“Don’t doubt I need it. Yet if the ‘talking to’ is to be very severe, I’d like to have the support of the lion. Let’s rest against him. That’s comfortable. Now, my child—talk!”
“First off, Bonny-Gay wants you to come and see her.”
“Shall be delighted, I’m sure. Please make my regards to Miss McClure and I will wait upon her at any hour she designates.” Which dignified yet whimsical remark set Mary Jane to smiling.