“As a lamb. I used to ride on his back!”
“And was he—er—handsome?”
“He had the loveliest ears, all little pleaty wrinkles, and such big, floppy feet——”
“All right, I’ll be content to be his namesake, only don’t expect me to howl when the phonograph plays. I can’t undertake to do that,” demurred the affable Jerry.
They all laughed a little at this protest, for Jerry Manton seemed good natured enough to “howl” if occasion demanded it. Even the moon might have inspired him “doggerly” so to speak.
Mrs. Manton picked up the little hand satchel that Nora kept at her side when the other baggage was being disposed of, and gently urged the little visitor into the Nest, there to settle that other question of attic or guest room.
The short bright curls bobbed up and down incredulously, as their surprised owner looked in on the yellow room, a moment later.
“Golden! Perfectly golden!” exclaimed the child. “But, of course, one could never get the nightmare in this lovely bird cage.” She stopped, apparently reasoning out bird cages, nightmares and ghostly attics. “And I have simply got to have a strange experience,” she scratched her heels together anxiously. “I just couldn’t give that up,” she decided.
“But you do think this is a pretty room?” asked the hostess, her own soft eyes embracing affectionately the golden space before them.
“Glorious!” declared Nora rapturously. “And I’m afraid it has been rather silly to get set on certain things without really knowing about them. Dreams are uncertain, after all.”