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Updated: July 29, 2025
"Who brings you your food?" continued the editor, looking at the tray. "Woberts." Evidently Roberts, the night watchman! The editor felt relieved; here was a clue to some explanation. He instantly sat down on the floor between them. "So that was the dolly that slept in my bed," he said gayly, taking it up. God gives helplessness a wonderful intuition of its friends.
Everything that Roberts did was impressive. "Were you, Woberts?" she queried. "You didn't want to play hide-and-go seek, did you, Woberts? Because if you did, I'd like to heaps and heaps." He opened his lips in protest; but she interrupted: "I'll be it, Woberts, and you can run and hide. Oh! Will you?" What could he say?
"I do," confessed the child, friendly. "But Woberts doesn't. Do you, Woberts?" Without waiting for the corroboration of the somewhat perturbed Roberts, she turned again to Blake. "I like heaps and heaps of sugar.... Woberts gives it to me when there isn't anyone looking, don't you, Woberts?" And then, very seriously, she added, "I like Woberts" Blake laughed, a low, rumbling, ringing laugh.
Swiftly she picked up the little silver sugar jar; she cast an investigative eye up at the solemn visage of the butler. "Mr. Tom can have some of ours, can't he, Woberts?" she inquired, gravely tendering the bowl to Blake, who accepted it just as gravely. "I thank you," he said, very seriously. "It is kind of you.... But, do you know, I was speaking rather of figurative sugar."
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