Peaches clung to Mickey and past him peered at her
visitor, and the visitor smiled his most winning smile.
He recognized Leslie’s ribbon, and noted the
wondrous beauty of the small white face, now slowly
flushing the faintest pink with excitement. Still
clinging she smiled back. Wordless, Douglas reached
over to pick up the doll. Then the right thought
came at last.
“Has the Precious Child been good to-day?”
he asked.
Peaches released Mickey, dropping back against her
pillows, her smile now dazzling. “Jus’
as good!” she said.
“Fine!” said Douglas, straightening the
long dress.
“An’ that’s my slate and lesson,”
said Peaches.
“Fine!” he said again as if it were the
only adjective he knew. Mickey glanced at him,
grinning sympathetically, “She does sort of knock
you out!” he said.
“‘Sort’ is rather poor. Completely,
would be better,” said Douglas. “She’s
the loveliest little sister in all the world, but she
doesn’t resemble you. Is she like your
mother?”
“Lily isn’t my sister, only as you wanted
me for a brother,” said Mickey. “She
was left and nobody was taking care of her. She’s
my find and you bet your life I’m going to keep
her!”
“Oh! And how long have you had her, Mickey?”
“Now that’s just what the Orphings’
Home dame asked me,” said Mickey with finality,
“and we are nix on those dames and their askings.
Lily is mine, I tell you. My family.
Now you visit with her, while I get supper.”
Mickey pushed up the table, then began opening packages
and setting forth their contents. Watching him
as he moved swiftly and with assurance, his head high,
his lips even, a slow deep respect for the big soul
in the little body began to dawn in the heart of Douglas
Bruce. Understanding of Mickey came in rivers
swift and strong, so while he wondered and while he
watched entranced, over and over in his head went the
line: “Fools rush in where angels fear
to tread.” With every gentle act of Mickey
for the child Douglas’ liking for him grew.
When he went over the supper and with the judgment
of a nurse selected the most delicate and suitable
food for her, in the heart of the Scotsman swelled
the marvel and the miracle that silenced criticism.
The Advent of Nancy and Peter
When Leslie began the actual work of closing her home,
and loading what would be wanted for the country,
she found the task too big for the time allotted,
so wisely telephoned Douglas that she would be compelled
to postpone seeing him until the following day.
“Leslie,” laughed Douglas over the telephone,
“did you ever hear of the man who cut off his
dog’s tail an inch at a time, so it wouldn’t
hurt so badly?”
“I have heard of that particular dog.”
“Well this process of cutting me out of seeing
you a day at a time reminds me of ‘that particular
dog,’ and evokes my sympathy for the canine as
never before.”
