"My dear Anne! You are quite agitated."
"I'm so glad—so glad!" almost sobbed Anne. "I could not bear to think of that poor little pet going away among strangers when we might—when perhaps we could have had her. Thank you, dear Millicent."
"Why did you not tell me that you wished it so much?"
"I could not, of course, if you felt that it was impossible."
"I did feel so at first, very strongly. But when I began to write, somehow there was nothing else to be done." Miss Storey hesitated, and a faint pink flush rose in her cheeks. "It seemed to me, I—saw—I seemed to see our dear Lord, when the little children were brought to Him—taking them in His Arms. And I wondered if, perhaps, He wanted us to take little Ivy for Him, and then—then—I could do nothing else but write and tell Frederick. It will be something of a trial, no doubt, but still—still—if it has to be—"
Miss Storey sighed, yet smiled bravely, and Miss Anne looked radiant.
"Dear Millicent, I'm sure you never will regret it. Ivy was such a little darling when we saw her last."
"Two and a half years old! But she is five now."
"She shall not be any trouble to you—if I can help it."
"Ah! But all will be right. We cannot do anything else," said Miss Storey.