jumped to her feet and, with George Washington still in
her arms, she threw herself on Mr. Jerry in a perfect spasm of
delighted gratitude that brought tears to the eyes of both of them for
George Washington was not accustomed to being squeezed between a young
man and a little girl.

"What a--what a splendid man you are!" cried Mary Rose. "You're like
King Arthur and Robin Hood, always succoring the friendless though I'm
not friendless when I have you and your Aunt Mary and all the people
over there." She nodded across at the white face of the Washington.

"All the people?" questioned Mr. Jerry. He had heard of some of them
who did not act friendly.

"Well, perhaps not all--yet," amended Mary Rose. "I do like to be
friends with people, Mr. Jerry. It gives you such a comfortable
feeling inside. When you're not friends it's just as if you had the
stomachache and the headache at the same time."

Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary brought in some cookies and three glasses of
ginger ale, all sparkling and frosty.

"It's a party," beamed Mary Rose. "I've always thought the world was
full of nice people and now I know it. Aunt Kate's forever telling me
that I'm too little to know the good from the bad but I tell her there
isn't any bad, that the Lord wouldn't waste His time and dust, and
anyway I have the right kind of an eye. I showed that when I made
friends with you and Mr. Jerry."

When she left she hesitated at the gate. "Would it be a bother if I
brought a friend over to see George Washington?" she ventured. "I'd
like Miss Thorley to meet him and then perhaps she'd paint his picture."

"I should think she would," promptly agreed Mr. Jerry. "He's a cat who
deserves to have his portrait painted. Bring over any friends you
wish, Mary Rose," hospitably, "but let me know first so George
Washington will be home. Sometimes I take him out with me," gravely.

Mary Rose gazed at him with adoration. "I don't believe I could have
found a better boarding place for him, not if I had searched all Waloo.
I'll let you know, Mr. Jerry, just as soon as I know myself."

CHAPTER XI

But before Mary Rose could write the letter that would tell Jimmie
Bronson that she was now financially able to maintain her animal
friends she had a big surprise.

The day had been warm and sultry, the sort that makes every nerve
disagreeably alive and brings to the surface all the unpleasant little
traits that in cooler weather one can kee