"If he weren't an A No. 1 dreamer, he'd be
too serious to live, but be goes dreaming and maundering along--dreaming
that things are about as he would like to have them. He sees your face
and Miss Lansdale's, and then they get mixed up in a queer way, and Miss
Kate's face comes out of the picture with such a look in the eyes that a
man of ordinary spirit would call her 'Little Miss' right off without
ever stopping to think; but of course this Fatty or Horsehead or
whatever it is can't say it right out, so he says it to himself about
twenty-three or twenty-four thousand times a day, as nearly as he can
reckon--he always was weak in arithmetic."
"You might let him write in _your_ autograph album," said the woman
child, brightly, to Miss Lansdale.
"I know what he'd write if he got the chance," I added incitingly. But
it did not avail. Miss Lansdale remained incurious and merely said,
"Long golden braids," as one trying to picture them.
"And later a little row of curls over each ear, and a tiny chain with a
locket around the neck. I had a picture once--"
"You have had many pictures."
"Yes--two are many if you've had nothing else."
But she was now regarding the woman child with a curious, close look,
almost troubled in its intensity.
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