“She’s the greatest child I ever saw,” he said, rejoining Maida a little later. “The things she thinks of to do! Why, the other day, Miss Allison—the sister of the blind lady what sits in the window and knits—the one what owns the parrot—well, Miss Allison painted one of her old chairs red and put it out in the yard to dry. Then she washed a whole lot of lace and put that out to dry. Next thing she knew she looked out and there was Betsy washing all the red paint off the chair with the lace. You’d have thought that would have been enough for one day, wouldn’t you? Well, that afternoon she turned the hose on Mr. Flanagan—that’s the policeman on the beat.”
“What did he say?” Maida asked in alarm. She had a vague imaginary picture of Betsy being dragged to the station-house.
“Roared! But then Mr. Flanagan thinks Betsy’s all right. Always calls her ’sophy Sparkles.’ Betsy runs away about twice a week. Mr. Flanagan’s always finding her and lugging her home. I guess every policeman in Charlestown knows her by this time. There, look at her now! Did you ever see such a kid?”
Betsy had come out of the yard again. She was carrying a huge feather duster over her head as if it were a parasol.
“The darling!” Maida said joyously. “I hope she’ll do something naughty every day.”
“Queer how you love a naughty child,” Dick said musingly. “They’re an awful lot of trouble but you can’t help liking them. Has Tim Doyle fallen into the puddle yet?”
“Yes, just a little while ago.”
“He’s always falling in mud puddles. I guess if Molly fishes him out once after a rain, she does a half a dozen times.”
“Do come and see me, Dicky, won’t you?” Maida asked when they got to the shop door. “You know I shall be lonely when all the children are in school and—then besides—you’re the first friend I’ve made.”
At the word friend, Dicky’s beautiful smile shone bright. “Sure, I’ll come,” he said heartily. “I’ll come often.”