“It's pretty lonely here, I guess; so p'r'aps you'll let me peep at your nice garden sometimes if it doesn't trouble you, sir?”
“Poor little soul! it must be desperately dull with those three tabbies,” he said to himself, as he stroked the dead chicken in his hand, and watched the little face bent toward him.
“Peep as much as you like, child; or, better still, come over and run about. I like little girls,” he added aloud, with a nod and a wave of welcome.
“I told 'em I was sure you did! I'd love to come, but they wouldn't let me, I know. I'm so sorry about the fight. Couldn't you make it up, and be pleasant again?” asked Rosy, clasping her hands with a beseeching gesture as her bright face grew sad and serious remembering the feud.
“So they've told you that nonsense already, have they? Nice neighbors THEY are,” said the old gentleman, frowning as if ill pleased at the news.
“I'm glad I know; p'r'aps I can be a peace-maker. Mamma says they are good to have in families, and I'd like to be one if I could. Would you mind if I tried to peace-make a little, so I could come over? I do want to see the red birds and the tiger skin awfully, if you please.”
“What do you know about 'em?” asked the old gentleman, sitting down on a garden chair, as if he didn't mind continuing the chat with this new neighbor.
Nearly tumbling off the wall in her earnestness, Rosy repeated all that Cousin Penny had said; and something in the reasonable words, the flattering description of his treasures, and the sincere regret of the old lady seemed to have a good effect upon Mr. Dover, for when Rosy paused out of breath, he said in such an altered tone that it was evident the peacemaking had already begun,—
“Miss Carey is a gentlewoman! I always thought so. You tell her, with my compliments, that I'd be glad to see you any time if she has no objection. I'll put my step-ladder there, and you can come over instead of the cat. But mind you don't meddle, or I might give you a toss like Tabby.”
“I'm not afraid,” laughed Rosy. “I'll go and ask right away, and I won't touch a thing, and I know you'll like me for a friend. Papa says I'm a dear little one. Thank you very much, sir. Good-by till I come again;” and with a kiss of the hand, the yellow head sunk out of sight like the sun going down, leaving a sense of darkness behind when the beaming little face disappeared, though fresh stains of green mould from the wall made it rather like the tattooed countenances Mr. Dover used to see among his cannibal friends in Africa.