"You have to find
me, you see."
Miss Robin jumped with joy. "Oh, goody, goody! I'll always make b'lieve
you are a Prince and I'll find you and you must find me, too. You will,
won't you?"
"You just bet I will," promised Dale, easily. "Here's your street." He
stopped to study the house numbers. Suddenly a door flew open wide and a
bareheaded man plunged into the street, almost tumbling upon them.
"Robin! Good gracious! I thought you were--stolen--lost--"
Robin, very calm, clasped him about his knee.
"I _was_ lost, Jimmie. But this very big boy brought me home. He's a
Prince--I mean he's my make-believe Prince."
"But, Robin--" The man turned from the child to Dale.
"I found her way down by Sheridan Square. She was hunting for her doll
she'd left there."
"While I was walking with Mr. Tony this afternoon I played in the park
and I forgot Cynthia."
"Good Heavens--and you went way off there all by yourself to find the
thing?"
In her pride of Dale, Robin overlooked the slur on Cynthia.
"I went alone," she repeated, "but I came home with my Prince."
Gradually Robin's father was recovering from his shock.
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