“Leigh Shirley. What’s yours?”
“Horace Carey.”
The doctor could not keep from smiling as he looked at her. She was so little and pretty, with yellow hair, big blue eyes, china-doll cheeks, and with all the repose of manner that only childhood and innocence can bestow.
“I think I like you, Horace,” Leigh said frankly, after carefully looking Carey over.
“Then, we’ll be friends,” he declared.
“Not for so mery long.” Leigh could not master the V of the alphabet yet. “’Cause I’m going away pretty 161 soon, Miss Jane say. You know my mamma’s dead.” The little face was very grave now. “And my Uncle Jim out in Kansas wants me. I’m going to him.”
Even in her innocence, Doctor Carey noted the very definite tone and clear trend of the young mind.
“Miss Jane loves me and I love her,” Leigh explained further. “Don’t you love Miss Jane, Horace?”
“Certainly,” Carey said, with some hesitancy.
“I’ll tell her so. She will love you, too. She is mery sweet,” Leigh assured him. “Where are you going to?”