DON
She tried hard not to smile. She loved and understood children, and
one of the chief reasons that they always returned her love with
interest was that she always took them seriously.
"Oh, I'm so very sorry," she apologized humbly; "perhaps I can help you
find it again. What was it you lost?"
"It were a brownie, a brown leaf brownie wiv crinkly legs, and I were
following it and now--"
"And now I've chased it away. Isn't that a shame." Phyllis was very
serious. "But, do you know, I think it was the brownie's own fault. I
felt something a minute ago, just punching and kicking at my face, and
I thought perhaps it was an ordinary leaf but of course it couldn't
have been."
"It were my brownie,"--the blue eyes wrinkled up at the end of an
impish grin. "Did it kick hard?"
"I should say it did. Look,"--Phyllis took her hand away from her eye.
It was quite red, for a bit of dust had inflamed it.
The small boy gazed at it thoughtfully.
"He hadn't ought to have hurted you," he said solemnly. "He were a bad
brownie, I guess--so I'll go back to Nannie now."
"Where is Nannie?" Phyllis inquired, looking in vain for a nurse. The
park, as far as she could see, was deserted.
"It doesn't matter," he said quite calmly. "I just remembered I'm
losted." He took Phyllis's outstretched hand and trotted along beside
her.
"Losted?" she inquired in astonishment.
"Yes, for quite a while, you see, Nannie talks and talks, and to-day
she were talking when the brownie came, and so I ran away. Nannie
doesn't know about brownies; just angels and devils."
Phyllis, in spite of herself, laughed. "But if Nannie has lost you,
won't she be worried?" she asked.
The small head nodded. "But she'll find me again," he assured her.
"She always does."
"What's your name?" he demanded after a minute of silence.
"Phyllis Page."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I have ever so many more names than that."
"What are they?"
"Donald Francis MacFarlan Keith," he recited glibly; "but mostly I'm
called Don."
"That's a very nice name," Phyllis agreed absently. She was still
looking for the lost Nannie.
"And I live," Don continued proudly, "at number theventeen East
Theventy-theventh Street." The s's were almost too much for him but he
struggled manfully.
"Why, that's very near where I live!" Phyllis exclaimed, relief in her
voice. "I'll take you home, if we don't find Nannie."
Don decided that that might be a good idea when, after a short hunt,
the missing Nannie was not discovered.
He talked every step of the way home, about brownies, policemen, dogs
and fire engines, and Phyllis joined in the discussion whole heartedly
and agreed with him that a mounted policeman was indeed superior to a
banker on Wall Street.
"For," Don explained, "that's what Nannie says my Daddy is, but I think
policemen is nicer."
When they reached the house that Don pointed out as his, they hurried
up the steps, but before Phyllis could press the button the door opened
and a boy about her own age stood on the threshold.
"I beg your pardon--" Phyllis began, but Don interrupted.
"Hello, Chuck," he said seriously. "This girl bringed me home because
I got losted. She's only got two names but she's very nice; she knows
all about brownies--"
"Don!"--the elder boy spoke so sharply that Phyllis was startled.
"Thank you very much," he continued, looking at her. "My small cousin
is always getting lost, I hope he hasn't bothered you."
"Not a bit," Phyllis laughed. "We've had a fine time. I'm sorry if
you have been worried."
"Oh, I haven't," the boy replied, "but I think his nurse has the whole
police force out looking for him. I knew he'd show up."
"Good-by, Don." Phyllis held out her hand, and Don put his little one
in it.
"Don't get lost again, will you!"
"It depends," Don replied gravely. "I can't promise. Anyway I'll look
for you every time I go to the park, and I'll ask the brownies about
you, 'cause I like you, oh, heaps better than Chuck. He doesn't know
anything about brownies."
Phyllis looked at the boy still standing in the doorway. He was
blushing.
"How silly of him," she said to Don. "We do anyway, don't we?"
"'Course," Don replied, and he insisted in spite of his cousin's
threats to watch and wave until Phyllis was out of sight.
Phyllis, hidden by the corner, paused to laugh.
"That wasn't a very polite thing to say," she admitted. "I wonder what
made me think of it. He looked quite nice too. I wonder who he is?"
Don for the moment was forgotten.
As Phyllis hurried home, many were the thoughts that kept her company,
for the brisk wind had blown all her doubts away and only the joy of
Janet's arrival remained.
People passing her saw a slender girl of thirteen with a delicate oval
face and well-shaped features framed in a wealth of gold brown hair.
Her eyes were soft and limpid, and they held an expression of
dreaminess in their depths.
This afternoon, however, they sparkled and seemed to challenge the
whole world to find a happier mortal.
She walked along, her step light as a fairy's, her skirts still blowing
at the whim of the breezes.
"I think I will stop and see some of the girls," she said to herself,
but she changed her mind the next minute and went home instead. It was
like Phyllis to make up her mind one minute and change it the next.
She found the house deserted on her return, and she had to go down to
the basement to get in.
"Where's everybody?" she demanded of Lucy, the fat good-natured cook.
"Out, my dear," Lucy told her. "Your aunt is out calling, and Annie
has gone to the grocery for me."
"What did you forget to-night?" Phyllis teased, as she swung herself up
on the kitchen table.
"Now, Miss Phyllis, I couldn't help it this time, for how did I know
that the can of mustard, standing there on the shelf as big as you
please, was empty?"
It was chronic with Lucy to forget things, and it was usually Phyllis
that went after them.
"Never mind, Lucy; it's hard luck. I don't see myself why those
everlasting cans don't tell you when they are empty; it would save my
steps, I know that."
"Cans speak! Go way with you," Lucy replied in a gust of laughter.
Phyllis swung down off the table.
"After two more days there'll be another me to go out and buy what you
forget to order," she said as she ran up the back stairs.
Lucy watched her and then shook her head at the row of shining pans on
the wall opposite.
"That, my dear, will never be," she said solemnly. "Look like you she
may and lucky she is to be so blest, but be like you, I beg to differ.
The dear Lord only made the one. Glory be," she added piously.
Phyllis, upstairs, was trying to think of something, no matter how
small, to do to improve Janet's room.