But Rose shook her head. “You just wait and see. Make the wooden doll. I’ll tell you when the doll is finished,” and she picked “Martha” up from the floor where Frederick had dropped her.
“Can’t I keep her for a pattern?” asked Frederick.
“Yes. Anne and Millicent are making paper dolls, and they won’t miss her for a little while, but bring her in before supper time.”
“All right,” and Frederick nodded cheerfully. He was already looking over his stock of wood for suitable pieces for the new doll, and wondering what the pleasant surprise would be.
Millicent could cut out very queer little dolls, and she and Anne were quite happy together under the big horse-chestnut tree until Anne said: “Where is my wooden doll, Millicent?”
“It’s mine; my Anne Rose,” said little Millicent placidly. “I don’t know where she is. I guess she’s lost,” and Millicent carefully folded a piece of paper to cut another doll.
“Lost!” Anne repeated.
“Yes,” agreed Millicent, indifferently. “I guess she is; p’raps she isn’t, though.”
Anne remembered Caroline’s story of elves, and was quite sure that her head was filled with them, for she felt as if she wanted to shake Millicent, and at the thought that her dear “Martha” was really lost Anne began to cry.
Millicent put down the scissors and paper, and looked at Anne with startled eyes, and then she began to cry. Rose came running out from the carriage-house.