It
had soft, bright-colored rugs and chintz-cushioned wicker chairs. There
was a dado of Mother Goose illustrations on the pink walls. And there
were tables and shelves full of picture-books and toys of all kinds.
Dunlop stood in the middle of the room, frowning, with hands thrust in
his pockets. He had just kicked over a row of wooden soldiers with which
his small brother was playing and the little fellow was crying over
their downfall.
"Martha! thanks be that you've come!" exclaimed the maid in charge.
"Here she is! here she is!" cried Dunlop. "I thought you weren't coming,
girl. You were so slow.--I was just getting ready to begin to scream,"
he warned Martha.
"How do you do, Dunlop?" said Anne, putting out her hand.
"Say 'howdy' and ask your visitor to take off her hat," Martha
suggested.
"You come on and tell me a story," said Dunlop, seizing Anne's hand.
She resisted his effort to drag her to a chair. "I said 'how do you do'
to you. And you haven't said 'how do you do' to me," she reminded her
host. "I want to do and be did polite."
"Aw! come on," persisted Dunlop.
Anne stood silent.
The memory of his former encounter with her stubborn dignity came back
to Dunlop.
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