A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. "Make Pete play wif me," said
Ruth. "My cow's all broke."
Pete glanced up, slowly slid the unread letter back into the envelope
and tucked it into his shirt. "You bet we'll find that cow if we have
to comb every draw on the ranch! Hello, pardner! Here's her ole head.
She was sure enough investigatin' that there haystack."
Doris turned away. There was a tense throbbing in her throat as she
moved back to the doorway. Despite herself she glanced back for an
instant. The dark head and the golden head were together over the
wonderful puzzle picture. Just why Pete should look up then could
hardly be explained by either himself or Doris. He waved his hand
boyishly. Doris turned and walked rapidly down the hallway. Her
emotion irritated her. Why should she feel so absolutely silly and
sentimental because a patient, who really meant nothing to her aside
from her profession, should choose to play puzzle picture with a
crippled child, that he might forget for a while his very identity and
those terrible happenings? Had he not said so? And yet he had put
aside the letter that might mean much to him, that he might make Little
Ruth forget her pain in searching for a dismembered pasteboard cow.
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