The Loom of Destiny
"What is your name, my little man?" she asked.
Teddie was silent. He could not have spoken for every house on the Avenue. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and he flushed crimson. Then the Angel (he was sure she was the Angel now) stooped down—actually leaned down over him until he could smell her flowers. He fixed his eyes blankly on them. He wriggled his bare toes in the anguish of his embarrassment.
"I—er—really—er—would n't touch him, you know!" advised the man in the black coat. How the child loathed the man in the black coat and shiny boots!
The Angel only smiled. "Did I frighten you, dear?" she asked gently.
The bare toes wriggled in mute embarrassment. So the Angel sighed, took out one of her flowers and gave it to him, and said to the man, as she turned to the carriage, that there was something fine in that child's face. Teddie heard it, and would have gone through fire and water for her.
Before following her the young man in
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