"None!" said the girl. "Come to-morrow night. You are sure Lily is so very little, Mickey?" "You wouldn't call me big, would you?" he asked. "Well! I can lift her with one hand! Such a large doll as that would be tiring and confusing. Please make Lily's _more like she's used to_. See?" "Mickey, I do see!" said Leslie. "I beg your pardon. Lily's doll shall not tire her or make her discontented with what she has. Thank you for a good idea." Mickey returned to the street shortly after noon, with more in his pocket than he usually earned in a day, where by expert work he soon disposed of his last paper. He bought the slate, then hurried home carrying it and the box. At the grocery he carefully selected food again. Then he threw open his door and achieved this: "_Once a little kid named Peaches, Swelled my heart until it eatches. If you think I'd trade her for a dog, Your think-tank has slipped a cog!_" Peaches laughed, stretching her hands as usual. Mickey stooped for her caress, scattering the ribbons over her as he arose. She gasped in delighted amazement. "Oh! Mickey! Where did you ever? Mickey, where did you get them? Mickey, you didn't st----?" "You just better choke on that, Miss!" yelled Mickey. "No I didn't st----! And I don't st----! And nothing I ever bring you will be st----! And you needn't ever put no more st's---- at me. See?" "Mickey, I didn't _mean_ that! Course I know you _wouldn't!_ Course I know you _couldn't!_ Mickey, that's the best poetry piece yet! Did you bring the slate?" "Sure!" said Mickey, somewhat mollified, but still injured. "I must have dropped it with the banquet!" Peaches pushed away the billow of colour, taking the slate. Her fingers picking at the string reminded Mickey of sparrow feet; but he watched until she untied and removed the paper which he folded to lay away. She picked up the pencil, meditating. "Mickey!" she said. "Make my hand do a word!" "Sure!" said Mickey. "What do you want to write first, Flowersy-girl?" Peaches looked at him reproachfully. "Course there wouldn't be but _one_ I'd want to do first of all," she said. "Hold my hand tight, and big and plain up at the top make it write, 'Mickey-lovest.'" "Sure," said the boy in a hushed voice. He gripped the hand, bending above her, but suddenly collapsed, buried his face in her hair and sobbed until he shook. Peaches crouched down, lying rigidly. She was badly frightened. At last she could endure it no longer. "Mickey!" she gasped. "Mickey, what did I do? Mickey, don't write it if you don't _want_ to!" Mickey arose, wiping his face on the sheet. "You just bet I want to write that, Lily!" he said. "I never wanted to do anything _more_ in all my life!" "Then why----?" she began. "Never you mind 'why' Miss!" said Mickey. Grasping her hand, he traced the words. Peaches looked at them a long time, then carefully laid the slate aside. She began fingering the ribbons.