"Must I stay all winter?" she said in a trembling voice. "Aren't you going to take me home?"
"But I thought you wanted to be 'adopted,' and to go to Europe, and have all sorts of fine things happen to you."
"Oh, Papa, don't tease me. Mamma Marion is ever so kind, but I want to come back and be your little girl again. Please let me. If you don't, I shall die—" and Johnnie wrung her hands.
"We'll see about it," said Dr. Carr. "Don't die, but kiss me and wash your face. It won't do for Miss Inches to come home and find you with those impolite red rims to your eyes."
"Come upstairs, too, and see my room, while I wash 'em," pleaded Johnnie.
All the time that Johnnie was bathing her eyes, Papa walked leisurely about looking at the pictures. His mouth wore a furtive smile.
"This is a sweet thing," he observed, "this one with the pickled asparagus and the donkey, or is it a cat?"
"Papa! it's a pig!"
Then they both laughed.
I think there was a little bit of relief mixed with Miss Inches' disappointment at hearing of Johnnie's decision. The child of theory was a delightful thing to have in the house, but this real child, with moods and tempers and a will of her own, who preferred chromos to Raphael, and pined after "tag," tried her considerably. They parted, however, most affectionately.