"Must I?" he asked, looking up in surprise.
"Of course you must."
"What must I know?"
"What's going to become of you, for one thing," she answered.
"Do YOU know what's going to become of me?" he asked.
"Not--not 'zactly," she admitted.
"Do you know what's going to become of YOU?" he continued, earnestly.
"I can't say I do," replied Dorothy, remembering her present difficulties.
The shaggy man laughed.
"No one knows everything, Dorothy," he said.
"But Button-Bright doesn't seem to know ANYthing," she declared. "Do
you, Button-Bright?"
He shook his head, which had pretty curls all over it, and replied
with perfect calmness:
"Don't know."
Never before had Dorothy met with anyone who could give her so little
information. The boy was evidently lost, and his people would be sure
to worry about him. He seemed two or three years younger than Dorothy,
and was prettily dressed, as if someone loved him dearly and took much
pains to make him look well. How, then, did he come to be in this
lonely road? she wondered.
Near Button-Bright, on the ground, lay a sailor hat with a gilt anchor
on the band. His sailor trousers were long and wide at the bottom,
and the broad collar of his blouse had gold anchors sewed on its
corners. The boy was still digging at his hole.
"Have you ever been to sea?" asked Dorothy.
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