Regardless of her own dainty frock, she hugged the dripping doll to her breast.

“You’re a good boy to help me,” she said, “I said I was sorry I hit you, and I am.  I just wish I hadn’t.”

“I’d rather ye’d hit me, than any other person touch me,” Gyp muttered, and then, for fear that someone at the house might send him off, he turned, and ran away.  Little Dollie looked after him.

“I wonder if he heard me say he was good,” she whispered.

Then with soft eyes she looked at the vanishing figure.

“He ’most always isn’t good, but this time he was,” she said.

Beauty, like most little dogs, had a habit of running off with any article that he could snatch, and hiding it.

Tiring of the doll he had dropped it in the brook, and then, when he happened to remember it, had dragged it forth, intending, doubtless, to give it another good shaking.

CHAPTER V

THE LITTLE GREEN DOOR

Dear little Dollie Burton’s warm, loving heart had been touched, and she eagerly told everyone how Gyp had helped to find her dear Aurora.

“You see, Rob,” she said, one day, “he’s some naughty, but he isn’t all naughty.  Mama always says:  ’Wait ’fore you ‘cuse anyone,’ but I didn’t wait.  I just ’cused him as hard as I could, and now I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re a trump, Dollie,” said Rob.

“Is a ‘trump’ a nice thing to be?” questioned the wee girl.

“The best thing in the world,” Rob declared laughing.

“Well, I didn’t know,” the little girl replied, “’cause when Nora’s cleaning closets, and finds old things, mama says:  ’Take that trumpery out to the waste barrel,’ and you say trump isn’t same as trumpery.”

“Guess not!  Dollie, you’re the best little girl I know,” said Rob, to which Dollie replied:  “And you’re the bestest boy I know.”

The news flew through the neighborhood that Gyp had found the doll.

“Well, that’s one decent thing he did,” said Rob Lindsey, “and I s’pose there’s just a chance that he didn’t take my ball, or your kite, but who else would do it?”

“Sure enough,” said Harry Grafton, “who else would?”

Vivian and Blanche, with Lena Lindsey, were walking with their arms about each other’s waists.  It was really too warm to play, but it was never too warm to talk.

“Just think,” said Vivian, “when Polly is here, we play no matter how hot it is.”

“Yes, except when we coax her to tell us some stories,” said Lena.  “She’s fun to play with, because when we’re tired of the old games, she can always make up a new one,” said Vivian.

And while Polly’s friends were talking lovingly of her, she had been telling Rose many pleasant things of the playmates that both so well knew.

It was only for a moment that they talked of their little friends, however, because both were anticipating a trip to an artist’s studio, where they would see beautiful pictures, and where Aunt Lois was to sit for her portrait.