Page:Stringer - Lonely O'Malley.djvu/47

 Boy! And Lonely's last hope of companionship crumbled away.

The boy's mother, startled by the loud voices, came to the door, with a scrubbing-brush in her hand. She gazed down the street after the disappearing band.

"I guess I could keep an eye on Alaska Alice!" she hinted, as she caught the sound of the shrill, boyish voices, blown back to the doorway where she stood.

"Ain't I mindin' her?" demanded Lonely, moodily.

The woman gazed down at the solitary figure, and then out at the dusty road, studded with the prints of many bare feet. From somewhere in the distance a few hens clucked drowsily.

"Don't you want to go fishing?"

"Nope!" said the boy, as he hitched impatiently at his blue denim overalls.

"You—you don't want to go with those other boys?" she repeated, amazed.

He glanced down the dust-covered street, after the happy little band, and was silent. They were playing "Last-Tag" now, and he could hear the old refrain: