There was going to
be a grand affair for her at Mrs. Hewitt's house the very next
night, and she hadn't a blessed thing to wear! Nothing, that is, but
five art-frocks which she had determined in her heart never to wear
again. But--the wind among the trees was very soothing, and the
wishing ring lay loose and heavy on her finger.
"You'll look after it," Joy murmured drowsily to the ring, and went
to sleep.
Philip wakened her the next morning. He was very clean and rosy from
a recent bath, and he was curled on the quilt at her feet, staring
intently at her.
"Did you know if you look hard at asleep folks' eyes they open?" he
inquired affably. "You see they do. Yours did. Do you mind dogs on
your bed, or Angela?"
Philip was always so perfectly friendly that Joy was very much at
ease with him, which had never been her case before with children.
But, then, she had never met any intimately before. She reached out
a slim white arm from beneath the covers and pulled him down and
kissed him--an operation which he bore with his usual politeness.
"I love dogs, and Angela," she told him. "And I don't mind them on
the bed a bit, if your mother doesn't."
Philip assumed a convenient deafness as to the last clause, and
whistled, whereat his slaves, Ivan, the white wolfhound, Foxy, and
Angela, all appeared joyously and dashed across the floor,
scrambling enthusiastically up on the white counterpane. They were
almost too many for one three-quarters bed, and Joy, on whom most of
the happy family was sitting, could have wished the dogs a little
lighter, even while she gave Angela a hand up.
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