"Mickey, you just walk in," she decided.
"All right!" said Mickey.
"Mickey, write on the other side of my slate what you said at the door to-night," she coaxed. "Get a little book an' write 'em all down. Mickey, I want to learn all of them, when I c'n read. Lemme tell you. You make all you c'n think of. Nen make more. An' make 'em, an' make 'em! An' when you get big as you're goin' to be, make books of 'em, an' be a poet-man 'stead of sellin' papers."
"Sure!" said Mickey. "I'd just as lief be a poet-man as not! I'd write a big one all about a little yellow-haired girl named Lily Peaches, and I'd put it on the front page of the Herald! Honest I would! I'd like to!"
"Gee!" said Peaches. "You go on an' grow hel—wope! I mean hurry! Hurry an' grow up!"
CHAPTER VI
The Song of a Bird
"Leslie," said the voice of Mrs. James Minturn over the telephone, "is there any particular time of the day when that bird of yours sings better than at another?"
"Morning, Mrs. Minturn; five, the latest. At that time one hears the full chorus, and sees the perfect beauty. Really, I wouldn't ask you, if I were not sure, positively sure, that you'd find the trip worth while."
"I'll be ready in the morning, but that's an unearthly hour!" came the protest.