Part 14 (2/2)

said she, placing the cricket at Mrs. Blake's feet, and seating herself in view of the front door.

Mrs. Blake smiled at this new thoughtfulness. But she understood Lydia's feelings, and in her sympathy she brushed and braided as slowly as she could. She herself wished Mr. Blake would return with news of the missing child. There were too many horses and automobiles, even at night, to make the roads safe for a ”Wee Willie Winkie” to

”Run through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, In his nightgown.”

So they both were watching and listening when Mr. Blake's step sounded on the porch. Lydia twitched the braid from her mother's hands, and flew into the hall.

In came Mr. Blake with the runaway in his arms. He placed him in Mrs.

Blake's lap where, winking and blinking his dark eyes in the lamplight, in his dew-stained night-clothes, he lay looking about him like a little white bird. He wore his new red felt slippers, now covered with dust, and he carried in his hand a tiny horse given him by one of the children at Robin Hill. He smiled when he saw his friend Lydia kneeling at his feet, and waved his red slippers at her in greeting. It was plain to be seen that he was well pleased with his evening's work.

”I found him marching down the road halfway between here and Robin Hill,” said Father, answering the question in Mrs. Blake's eyes.

”Alexander has gone on to tell Miss Martin. Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?” he went on. ”Running away seems to be your specialty. Do you mean to stay here with us for a while, or will you get me up in the middle of the night to bring you back from another trip down the road?” And Mr. Blake smiled down at the contented little figure cuddled in Mrs. Blake's lap.

”You won't run away again, will you, Roger?” asked Lydia coaxingly. ”You want to stay here with me, don't you?”

Roger nodded solemnly.

”Yes,” said he, ”I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you forever.”

And then he sneezed one, two, three times.

”Mercy me!” said Mother. ”Off to bed, both of you.”

And, bundled in the white shawl, the triumphant Roger was borne upstairs, Lydia hopping alongside, delighted with this unexpected turn of affairs.

”Roger is visiting us, Mother says,” explained Lydia the next morning, as she and Roger paid an early morning call upon Friend Deborah in her spotless kitchen, ”but Roger says he has come to stay.”

The little boy, his eyes fixed upon a bowl of peaches, nodded.

”I like it here,” he said gravely. ”I like Lydia. I like my new mother and father. I like peaches, too.”

”You mustn't say that!” cried Lydia, scandalized. ”It isn't polite. You mustn't ask, ever.”

”I didn't ask,” returned Roger stoutly. ”I only said I liked.”

But Lydia sighed, as if she had all the cares of a large family upon her shoulders. Roger must be taught so many lessons in politeness, and his table manners needed constant attention.

”Just watch me, Roger,” instructed Lydia. ”Do just what I do.”

But at last Roger tired of her corrections.

”You have more spots at your place than I have,” he retorted between mouthfuls of mush. ”And I didn't cry when I took my medicine, and you did. And I wasn't put to bed yesterday like you.” And with a flourish of his spoon, Roger placidly finished his supper, while the crestfallen Lydia slipped away to console herself with Lucy Locket, who never ”answered back.”

”It is good for her, I suppose,” said Mrs. Blake, who, with Mr. Blake, was an amused spectator of this scene. ”I am afraid we were making her selfish. It isn't well for a child to grow up alone. And they love each other dearly. Roger follows Lydia about like her shadow.”

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