A little rest and attention had entirely restored his good-humour;
and when Dr. Paul went into the tent to see that all was safe for the
night, he found him sitting up in bed with a gleeful countenance,
prattling like a little angel.
'We had an offul funny time 'bout my gittin' losted, didn't we,
mamma?' chuckled he, with his gurgling little laugh. 'Next time I'm
goin' to get losted in annover bran'-new place where no-bud-dy can
find me! I fink it was the nicest time 'cept Fourth of July, don't
you, mamma?' And he patted his mother's cheek and imprinted an oily
kiss thereon.
'Truth,' said the Doctor, with mild severity, 'I know you don't
believe in applying the slipper, but I do think we should arrange
some plan for giving that child an idea of the solemnity of life. So
far as I can judge, he looks at it as one prolonged picnic.'
'My sentiments exactly!' cried Bell, energetically. 'I can't stand
many more of these trying scenes; I am worn to a "shadder."'
Dicky tucked his head under his mother's arm, with a sigh of relief
that there was one person, at least, whose sentiments were always
favourable and always to be relied upon.
'I love you the best of anybuddy, mamma,' whispered he, and fell
asleep.
CHAPTER IV: RHYME AND REASON
A BUDGET OF LETTERS FROM THE CAMP MAIL-BAG
'The letter of a friend is a likeness passing true.'
Our friend Polly was seated in a secluded spot whence all but her had
fled; her grave demeanour, her discarded sun-bonnet, her corrugated
brow, all bespoke more than common fixedness of purpose, the cause of
which will be discovered in what follows.
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