"And what about your dog?"
"Oh, Gippie ain't in it at all," she said, with animation. "He don't need to go. I guess I'll find some nice home for him with somebody as likes animiles," and a shrewd and melancholy smile hovered about her tense lips as she gazed at her host and hostess.
"Poor little girl," said Mrs. Tracy, sympathetically; "we will take your dog and you, too. You shall not go back—you shall live with us."
As she spoke, her big blue eyes filled with tears, and she laid a caressing hand on 'Tilda Jane's shoulder.
"Please don't do that, ma'am," said the little girl, vehemently, and slipping her shoulder from under the embracing hand. "Please don't do anything homey to me. Treat me as if I was a real orphan."
"A real orphan," repeated Mrs. Tracy, in slight bewilderment.
"Oh, I want a home," cried the little girl, clenching her hands, and raising her face to the ceiling. "I want some one to talk to me as if I had blue eyes and curly hair. I want a little rocking-chair an' a fire. I don't want to mind bells, an' run with a crowd o' orphans, but it ain't the will o' Providence. I've got to give up," and her hands sank to her sides, and her head fell on her breast.
Mrs. Tracy bit her lip, and pressed her hands together.
"Will you stay to dinner with us, my dear?" said Mr. Tracy, softly. "I will take you into my study where there is a fire and a rocking-chair, and you shall see some curiosities that I picked up in Palestine."
"Oh, no, sir, I must go," and she again became animated. "That ole man—I mus' see him. Tell me, sir, jus' what I am to do. I've been doin' all the talkin', an' I wanted to hear you. I guess I'm crazy," and she pressed her hands nervously over her ears.