She lifted serious eyes.
"I promise," she drawled, with a gravity out of all proportion to her
six years, "I promise to go to school and learn lots like Dale and be
fine and boo'ful so's my 'dopted dolly will like me as well as--that
other kid. I've gotta be good 'nough for her. So there."
The child could not comprehend the obstacles which might threaten such a
standard; she stared bravely into the unblinking eyes of the doll who
smiled back her graven smile.
Then: "I'm hungry," she declared, suddenly deciding that dumplings were
more important than anything else. "And can my Dolly sit in Pop's seat?"
"That she can," cried the mother, going to her "mixin'." "And what a gay
supper it will be--with the new dolly and the pretty beads and the
dumplin's. Oh, Himself a foreman!"
CHAPTER II
A PRINCE
Promptly at nine o'clock, young Dale Lynch turned the key in the door of
"Tony Sebastino, Groceries" and started, whistling, homeward. Three
times a week, from the close of school until nine o'clock, he worked in
the store, snatching a dinner of bananas, or bread and cheese, between
customers. Because "Mom" had whispered that there were to be "dumplin's"
this night and that she would keep some warm for him, and because the
wind whipped chillingly through his thin clothing, he broke into a run.
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