"I only cut 'em out of papers, and stick 'em on this wall or put 'em in scrap-books. I can't draw, and I haven't got no paints," answered Johnny.
"You should say 'haven't any paints.' I will come and see you some day; and if I like you, I will let you have my old paint-box. Do you want it?"
"Guess I do!"
"I think I shall like you; so I'll bring it when I come. Do you ache much?"
"Awfully, sometimes. Have to lay down all day, and can't do a thing."
"Do you cry?"
"No! I'm too big for that. I whistle."
"I know I shall like you, because you are brave!" cried the impetuous voice, with its pretty accent; and then an orange came tumbling through the hole, as if the new acquaintance longed to do something to help the "ache."
"Isn't that a rouser! I do love 'em, but mother can't afford 'em often." And Johnny took one delicious taste on the spot.
"Then I shall give you many. We have loads at home, much finer than these. Ah, you should see our garden there!"