But at least
Dowson had gained a side light. And how the little thing had cared!
Actually as if she had been a grown girl, Dowson found herself
thinking uneasily.
She was rendered even a trifle more uneasy a few days later
when she came upon Robin sitting in a corner on a footstool with
a picture book on her knee, and she recognized it as the one she
had discovered during her first exploitation of the resources
of the third floor nursery. It was inscribed "Donal" and Robin
was not looking at it alone, but at something she held in her
hand--something folded in a crumpled, untidy bit of paper.
Making a reason for nearing her corner, Dowson saw what the paper
held. The contents looked like the broken fragments of some dried
leaves. The child was gazing at them with a piteous, bewildered
face--so piteous that Dowson was sorry.
"Do you want to keep those?" she asked.
"Yes," with a caught breath. "Yes."
"I will make you a little silk bag to hold them in," Dowson said,
actually feeling rather piteous herself. The poor, little lamb
with her picture book and her bits of broken dry leaves--almost
like senna.
She sat down near her and Robin left her footstool and came to her.
She laid the picture book on her lap and the senna like fragments
of leaves on its open page.
"Donal brought it to show me," she quavered. "He made pretty things
on the leaves--with his dirk.
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