"Our poet!" she said. "Oh Mickey, hurry! I'm so eager to hear the ones in
the book Douglas tells me you are making! Won't you please read them to
us?"
Mickey smiled as he led the way. "Just nonsense stuff for Lily," he said.
"Nothing but fooling, only the prayer one, and maybe two others."
An abrupt movement from Peaches as they advanced made Mrs. Harding glance
her way in time to see the first wave of deep colour that ever had flooded
the child's white face, come creeping up her neck and begin tinging her
cheeks, even her forehead. With a swift movement she snatched her poetry
book, which always lay with her slate and primer, thrusting it under her
pillow; when she saw Mrs. Harding watching her she tilted her head and
pursed her lips in scorn: "'Our!'" she mimicked. "'Our!' Wonder whose she
thinks he is? Nix on her!"
Mrs. Harding, caught surprisedly, struggled to suppress a laugh as she
turned to meet her guests. Mickey noticed this. He made his introductions,
and swiftly thrust Peaches' Precious Child into her arms, warning in a
whisper: "_You be careful, Miss!_"
Peaches needed the reminder.
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