He radiated
content.
"Good!" he cried. "That's grand and good! I didn't take a fair look at you
last night. It was so sissing hot in that place and you went to sleep
before I got my chores done; but now we must get acquainted. Tell me
honey, does any particular place in your little body hurt you? If there
does, put your hand and show Peter where."
Peaches stared at Peter, then she faintly smiled at him and laid a
fluttering hand on her left side.
"Oh shockings!" mourned Peter. "That's too bad! That's vital! Your heart's
right under there, honey. Is there a pain in your _heart?_"
Peaches nodded solemnly.
"Not _all_ the time!" she explained. "Only like now, when you are so
_good_ to me. Jus' so fine and good."
Then and there Peter surrendered. He bent and kissed the hand he held, and
said with tears saturating his words, just as tears do permeate speech
sometimes: "Pshaw now, Little White Butterfly! I never was more pleased to
hear anything in my life. Ma and I have talked for years of having some
city children here for summer, but we've been slow trying it because we
hear such bad reports from many of them, and it's natural for people to
shield their own; but I guess instead of shielding, we may have been
denying.
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