DREAM DAYS
speed them forth to the strange, cold, distant Children's Hospital, where their little failings would all be misunderstood and no one would make allowances. A dreamy spectator, I stood idly by while Harold propped up the lid and the two plunged in their arms and probed and felt and grappled.
"Here's Rosa," said Harold, suddenly. "I know the feel of her hair. Will you have Rosa out?"
"Oh, give me Rosa!" cried Charlotte, with a sort of gasp. And when Rosa had been dragged forth, quite unmoved apparently, placid as ever in her moonfaced contemplation of this comedy-world with its ups and downs, Charlotte retired with her to the window-seat, and there in the moonlight the two exchanged their private confidences, leaving Harold to his exploration alone.
"Here's something with sharp corners," said Harold, presently. "Must be Leotard, I think. Better let him go."
"Oh, yes, we can't save Leotard," assented Charlotte, limply.
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