“Tell ’oo Boy bin there,” he repeated. “Boy seen f’owers and boo’ful people! Boy knows vezy well about it!”
The Major became interested.
“Oh, all right!—I don’t wish to contradict you, little chappie!” he said with a cheery and confidential air,—“But when were you there last, eh?”
Boy considered—his rosy lips tightened, and his fair brows puckered in a frown of mental puzzlement.
“Me dunno,” he replied at last: “long, long time ‘go—awfoo’ long!” and he gave a deep sigh. “Dunno ’ow long—” here he studied the picture again with an approving air of familiarity. “But Boy ’members it;—pitty p’ace,—pitty flowers,—all bwight,—awfoo’ bwight!—’ess! me ’members it!”
The Major got up from his knees, dusted his trousers, and looked quizzically at Miss Letty.
“Odd little rascal,” he observed, sotto voce. “Doesn’t know a bit what he is jabbering about!”
Miss Letty’s soft blue eyes rested on the child thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure about that, Dick,” she said. “We are rather arrogant, we old worldly-wise people, in our estimate of children;—Boy may remember where he came from, and the imagination of a great artist may have recalled to him a true reality.”
Her voice was very sweet,—her face expressed a faith and hope which made it beautiful; and Dick Desmond, in his quick, impulsive fashion, caught one of her little white hands and raised it to his lips with all the gallant grace of a soldier and a gentleman.