You've
got another doll, haven't you? If you haven't, you just ask Santa Claus
for one. Why, say, kiddo, what's this? You lame?" For the little girl
skipped jerkily at his side.
"That's just the way I'm made," the child answered, quite indifferent to
the shocked note in the boy's voice. "I can walk and run, but I go
crooked."
"What's your name?"
"Robin Forsyth." She made it sound like "Wobbin Force."
"Oh, Wobbin Force. Funny name, isn't it? And what's your Ma and Pa going
to say to you for running off?"
Putting a small hand trustingly into the boy's big one, the child
skipped along at his side. "Oh, nothing," she answered, lost in an
admiring contemplation of her rescuer. "What's they, anyway?"
"A Ma? Don't you know what your mother is?"
Little Robin met his astonishment with a ripple of laughter. "Oh a
_mother_! I had a lovely, lovely mother once but she's gone away--to
Heaven. And is a Pa a Jimmie?"
"A--what?" Dale had never met such a strange child.
"'Cause Jimmie's my Parent. I call him Parent sometimes and sometimes I
call him Jimmie."
If his companion had not been so very small Dale might have suspected an
attempt at "kidding.
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