Ross was completely ignorant about young children, but he realized that they were not to be held strictly accountable for their statements. And this child was such a very small one; such a funny little doll. She had a great mane of fair hair hanging about her shoulders, and, on one temple, a wilted bit of pink ribbon; she had serene blue eyes, a plump and serious face, by no means clean. She wore a white dress, still less clean, a coral necklace, white—or grayish white—socks all down about her ankles, and the most dreadful little white shoes. He observed all this, because it was his way to observe, and because he was so amazed that he could do nothing but stare at her. “But who brought you?” he asked. “Minoo,” she replied. “Who’s Minoo?” The child held up the rabbit. “Oh, Lord!” cried Ross. “Won’t you please try to be—sensible? I don’t know— Are you all alone here?” “I fink I are.” “The door was locked,” he said, aloud. “I can’t see— But what shall I do with you?” “Gimme my dindin,” said she. Ross wished to treat so small and manifestly incompetent a creature with all possible courtesy, but he was handicapped by his inexperience. “Look here, Lily!” he said, earnestly. “I’m in the deuce of a hurry just now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll come back as soon as I can.” “I will be a good baby!” said she. “But I want my dindin!” He could have torn his hair. He could not fail Amy now. And he could not leave a good baby alone and hungry, for he did not know how long. “Shall I take it to the house?” he thought. “The cook would feed it. But—perhaps it’s another of these damned mysteries. I haven’t time to think it out now. I’d better keep it here until I’ve thought a bit. See here, Lily, what do you eat?” “Dindin,” Lily answered. “Yes, I know. But—I’ve got bread. Will that do?” “I _like_ bread and thugar!” she agreed. He hurried into the kitchen, cut four good, sturdy slices of bread, covered them well with butter and sugar, and brought them back on a plate. Then, with a vague memory of a puppy he had once had, he thought of water, and brought a glassful. “Now I’ve got to go, Lily,” he explained. “But I’ll come back as soon as I can. You just wait, see?” “I will!” she said, pleasantly, and held out her arms. He hesitated for a moment, half frightened; then he caught up the funny little doll and kissed its cheek. It was not a doll. It was warm and alive, and solider than it looked. It clung to him, and kissed him back again. XI “You won’t feel the cold the first winter in the States.” That was what people in Manila and Porto Rico had told Ross. He thought of those people now. You didn’t feel it, did you? Yes, you did!