friends with
everybody and I can't honestly feel that Mr. Wells and I are friends."

CHAPTER XII

Mr. Bracken found one morning, when he had reached his office, that he
had forgotten some important papers. He went home at noon to get them.
He let himself into the apartment and walked directly into the
living-room. He stopped with an exclamation of surprise for on the
broad davenport was a little girl fast asleep. One of her arms was
thrown protectingly about a brass cage in which a bird swung lazily.

"Well, upon my word!" muttered Mr. Bracken. He looked about to be sure
he was in the right apartment. He had been away from home and had not
met Mary Rose.

The words, low as they were uttered, reached Mary Rose's ear and she
opened her eyes. When she saw a tall man staring somewhat frowningly
at her she sat up suddenly.

"I--I hope you're Mr. Bracken, Mrs. Bracken's husband?" she said.
There was a tremble in her voice as she slipped from the davenport and
bobbed a curtsy. There was a shake in her knees, also. Suppose this
strange man should be a burglar? The thought was enough to make the
voice and knees of any little girl tremble and shake. But the strange
man nodded curtly and Mary Rose laughed tremulously. "I thought
perhaps you were a burglar," she confessed at once. "I never knew a
real burglar but I see now you don't look a bit like one. If I hadn't
been so sleepy I'd have seen it at once for I've the right kind of an
eye, the kind that can see the good in people. I think you have, too,
because your eyes are just the same color my daddy's were and he had
the right kind. Gracious! I should just think he had!"

"Never mind about eyes," Mr. Bracken said impatiently. "What are you
doing here?"

"I'll tell you," she blushed. "I came up to wash the dishes, as I do
every morning for Mrs. Bracken, and I left the key on the outside and
the wind slammed the door shut. I couldn't open it. I thought I'd
have to wait until Mrs. Bracken came home to let me out. I didn't dare
make a noise for fear I'd disturb Mr. Wells. I must have gone to sleep
for I never heard you come in. I live in the cellar with my Aunt Kate
and Uncle Larry. At first I felt like a green cucumber pickle because
in Mifflin, where I used to live, there wasn't anything in our cellar
but a swinging shelf for pickles and jellies and a person couldn't ever
feel like a glass of plum jelly, could they? So I felt like a cucumber