Arthur knew perfectly well who
she was, but something about her so dazed and bewildered him that for a
moment he could not speak, but stared at her with the hungry, wistful
look of one longing for something just within his reach, but still
unattainable.
'Do you like me?' Jerry asked at last.
'Like you?' he replied. 'Yes. Why did you not come to me sooner?'
And, stooping, he kissed the cherry-stained mouth as he had never kissed
a child before.
Sitting down upon the lounge, he took her in his lap and said to her
again:
'Who are you, and where did you come from? I know your name is Jerry,
which is a strange one for a girl, and I know you live with Mrs.
Crawford, but before that night where did you live? Where did you come
from?'
'Out of the carpet-bag in the Tramp House. I told you that once,' Jerry
said. 'Harold found me. I am his little girl. He is out in the cherry
tree, and said I must not come up, because you were crazy and would hurt
me. You won't hurt me, will you? And be you crazy?'
'Hurt you? No,' he answered, as he parted the rings of her hair from her
low brow. 'I don't know whether I am crazy or not They say so, and
perhaps I am, when my head is full of bumble-bees.'
'Oh--h!' Jerry gasped, drawing back from him.
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