The Loom of Destiny
looked for several minutes into his blue eyes. Then she asked him, point-blank, why he had done such a thing. The child, who was known throughout Perkins Place to be an ingenious, inveterate, and incorrigible liar, broke down, and weeping repentantly, wished he really was dead, and in the performance completely ruined the Angel's white shirt-waist. But the Angel was all patience, and between sobs and whimpers he told her the whole story of his love for her. He talked as he had never talked before, and when he had nothing left to say he sighed and looked at her and sighed again. He was happy.
He touched her with his brown little fingers.
"My, I like bein' near youse!" he said. "It's like th' hurdygurdy! I allus want 'er git right close up to it an' see where th' soun' kind 'er first comes frum. Youse is jus' like that! An' I can't help it, youse is so—so much like music! I guess I'd ravver listen to youse then th' music, tho'."
His arms slipped timidly up to her neck,
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