Gyp stood still, and waited, open mouthed, while Dollie ran toward him.
He thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and wondered that
she wished to speak to him.
"You naughty, BAD boy!" she cried, striking at him with the flowering
branch. "Naughty, BAD boy! You bring it back to me!"
Again the flowers hit him, but they gave nothing worse than a love pat.
"What'll I bring ye?" he asked awkwardly, "I ain't got anything you'd
want. Ye look like them fairies I've read 'bout."
[Illustration with caption: "Ye've lost yer dolly, hev ye?"]
"DIDN'T you take my best doll?" she asked, her anger gone, and her red
lips trembling.
Two big tears ran down the pink cheeks.
Then the strangest thing happened. Gyp, the imp, the one who apparently
had no feeling, stooped, and peeping into the lovely little face, spoke
very gently:
"Ye've lost yer dolly, hev ye? I ain't seen it, but I'll try ter find it
for yer."
"Oh, WILL you?" she cried, smiling through her tears, "then I'm sorry I
whipped you with this branch, and come! Let's bofe of us hunt together."
She offered him her little hand, and very carefully he took it.
He walked as if on air. Who else had ever offered him a hand? Who had
ever spoken kindly? This lovely little girl had smiled at him, and had
wished to be with him while he searched.
How he worked!
Like a little wild creature he crawled under shrubs, and, using his
fingers like claws, tugged at grass, and twigs, as if his only interest
were to find the doll.
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