The name of the person who read my story was Judy, and her last name was Palmer. She knocked on my door that afternoon, and opening it, I saw her. She was holding a copy of the magazine in her hand. She was only fourteen, with curls of brown hair, and a red ribbon tied in a bow above her forehead.

‘Are you Mr Bandini?’ she said.

I could tell from her eyes she had read The Little Dog Laughed. I could tell instantly. ‘You read my story, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘How did you like it?’

She clutched it close to her chest and smiled. ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘Oh, so wonderful! Mrs Hargraves told me you wrote it. She told me you might give me a copy.’

My heart fluttered in my throat.

‘Come in!’ I said. ‘Welcome! Have a chair! What’s your name? Of course you can have a copy. Of course! But please come in!’

I ran across the room and got the best chair. She sat down so delicately, the child’s dress she wore even concealing her knees. ‘Do you want a glass of water?’ I said. ‘It’s a hot day. Maybe you’re thirsty.’

But she wasn’t. She was only nervous. I could see I frightened her. I tried to be nicer, for I didn’t want to scare her away. It was in those early days when I still had a bit of money.

‘Do you like ice cream?’ I said. ‘Would you like me to get you a milk nickel or something?’

‘I can’t stay,’ she said. ‘Mother will get angry.’

‘Do you live here?’ I said. ‘Did your mother read the story too? What’s your name?’ I smiled proudly. ‘Of course you already know my name,’ I said. ‘I’m Arturo Bandini.’

‘Oh, yes!’ she breathed, and her eyes widened with such admiration I wanted to throw myself at her feet and weep. I could feel it in my throat, the ticklish impulse to start sobbing.

‘Are you sure you won’t have some ice cream?’

She had such beautiful manners, sitting there with her pink chin tilted, her tiny hands clinging to the magazine.

‘No thank you, Mr Bandini.’

‘How about a Coke?’ I said.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘No.’

‘Root beer?’

‘No, if you please. Thank you.’

‘What’s your name?’ I said. ‘Mine’s—’ but I stopped in time.

‘Judy,’ she said.

‘Judy!’ I said, over and over. ‘Judy, Judy! It’s wonderful!’ I said. ‘It’s like the name of a star. It’s the most beautiful name’ I ever heard!’

‘Thank you!’ she said.

I opened the dresser drawer containing copies of my story. It was still well stocked, some fifteen remaining.

‘I’m going to autograph it. Something nice, something extra special!’

Her face coloured with delight. This little girl was not joking; she was really thrilled, and her joy was like cool ] water running down my face. ‘I’m going to give you two copies,’ I said. ‘And I’m going to autograph both of them!’