The game was absorbing. Bobby brushed his type with the benzine and toothbrush; distributed it and set up another name—Miss Celia Carleton. He had printed nearly a dozen of these when his mother's voice behind him interrupted his labours.
"Robert," said the voice sternly, "what are you doing with that mucilage?"
V
THE LITTLE GIRL
Bobby spent as much time with Celia as he was allowed. On Sunday he took her on his regular excursion to Auntie Kate—and Auntie Kate's cookies.
"Aren't you glad there was no Sunday School to-day?" he inquired blithely.
"I like Sunday School," stated Celia.
Bobby stopped short and looked at her.
"Do you like church too?" he demanded.