Gyp stood still, and waited, open mouthed, while Dollie ran toward him.

He thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and wondered that she wished to speak to him.

“You naughty, bad boy!” she cried, striking at him with the flowering branch.  “Naughty, bad boy!  You bring it back to me!”

Again the flowers hit him, but they gave nothing worse than a love pat.

“What’ll I bring ye?” he asked awkwardly, “I ain’t got anything you’d want.  Ye look like them fairies I’ve read ’bout.”

 [Illustration with caption:  “Ye’ve lost yer dolly, hev ye?”]

“Didn’t you take my best doll?” she asked, her anger gone, and her red lips trembling.

Two big tears ran down the pink cheeks.

Then the strangest thing happened.  Gyp, the imp, the one who apparently had no feeling, stooped, and peeping into the lovely little face, spoke very gently: 

“Ye’ve lost yer dolly, hev ye?  I ain’t seen it, but I’ll try ter find it for yer.”

“Oh, will you?” she cried, smiling through her tears, “then I’m sorry I whipped you with this branch, and come!  Let’s bofe of us hunt together.”

She offered him her little hand, and very carefully he took it.

He walked as if on air.  Who else had ever offered him a hand?  Who had ever spoken kindly?  This lovely little girl had smiled at him, and had wished to be with him while he searched.

How he worked!

Like a little wild creature he crawled under shrubs, and, using his fingers like claws, tugged at grass, and twigs, as if his only interest were to find the doll.

“Was yer near the brook when ye was playin’ with it?” asked Gyp.

“Oh, oh, I was, but I’d forgotten it.  Didn’t anyone hunt there!  Let’s go, quick, maybe we’ll find her!”

She gave him a sunny smile, and in delight, he again took the wee hand she offered him, and together the ragged boy, and the wee, dainty girl hurried away to the brook.

It was a bit of the same brook that ran through the garden at Sherwood Hall.

Just as they reached the brook something backed up from the water’s edge.

“Oh, Beauty!  Beauty!  What are you doing?” cried Dollie.

The puppy growled, and continued dragging something up the little bank.

“Here Mr. Puppy!  Gim me that!” cried Gyp.

“Why, it’s my lovely Aurora!” cried Dollie, dancing wildly about.

Gyp, fearless because the little dog was only a pup, tugged at the body of the doll, while Beauty held firmly to its pink skirt.

The muslin frock gave way under the strain, and the puppy, with a bit of the muslin in his mouth, rolled over on the grass, while Gyp, doubting if the bedraggled doll would be accepted, held it out, dripping, for Dollie to look at.

“Is it the doll what ye lost?” he asked.

“Oh, yes; yes it is,” cried Dollie, “and I love her just as much as I did before she was drownded!”