It’s one of our conventional superstitions. To-morrow they will know the truth. You can borrow any of my outfits anytime, you know. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. He looked the boy over with interest. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. I don’t know. “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. . ’ The lashes fluttered demurely.
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