“What do you mean by coming up behind me and startling me with your 'Mr. Dominie'?” I demanded. “I heard the man with the funny hat call you that. Isn't it your name?” “It will serve. What are you doing in Our Square?” “I came down to see the place.” “You came down to see the Little Red Doctor,” I charged. “Oh, no,” she protested softly. “Just to see the place where he lives. I went near there, but he came out and I ran away.” “You needn't have,” I said. “He has forgotten you.” “I don't think it nice of you to say that, Mr. Dominie.” There was a little break in her voice. I looked away hastily. Though, if I had made her cry, it served her right. I looked back and found that she was not crying. She was laughing. At me! “He has forgotten you,” I repeated positively, “as he ought.” “Yes; I suppose he ought,” she assented dolorously. “But he hasn't,” she added with a sudden change to an adorable impertinence. “You know he hasn't. Nobody ever forgets me. You didn't forget me, did you? And you'd only seen me once.” “Why am I seeing you now?” “Because you're old and wise and you look kind.” “I am very old and extremely wise,” I answered, “but my kindly expression is mere senile deterioration of the facial muscles. I am really brutal.” “But you'll be kind to me,” she averred trustfully. I surrendered. “What about?” “I want to see the--the Little Red Doctor, and yet I--I don't want to see him. Do you know what I mean?” “No. Do you?” “N-n-no. I suppose I don't exactly. Do you think he'd like to see me?” “I'm sure he wouldn't.” Her lip quivered. “And you said you'd be kind to me,” she murmured plaintively. “Not at all! _You_ said I'd be kind to you. Are you in love with the Little Red Doctor?” “Of course I'm not!” she asserted violently. “Then why are you here in Our Square at all? Does the scenery entice you? Are you enthralled by our social advantages? Would you like to meet some of our leading local lights?” “I would like to meet somebody who is really wise and kind, too wise and kind to make fun of poor little me.” “That's the Bonnie Lassie,” said I with sudden, inspired conviction. “Come with me. “Where?” asked the brown-and-gold fairy, hanging back doubtfully. “To her studio where she sculps wonderful and beautiful things. If I'm any judge she'll sculp you as a butterfly that's lost its way in this wicked--” “I'm not a butterfly,” interrupted my companion. “I'm a very serious person on a very serious errand.” “--world,” I proceeded. “And she'll talk to you about the Little Red Doctor--” “Will she?” murmured the brown-and-gold fairy, moving after me. “--whom she loves devotedly--” “Does she!” said the brown-and-gold fairy, stopping short. “--as every one in Our Square does and ought to--” “Oh!” remarked the fairy, catching up with me again. “--for reasons which you should know as well as any one.”