“I’ve got ink on Anne’s face and Millicent is frightened,” Rose called back, drawing Anne toward the stairs. Millicent stopped crying, and finding that no one took the wooden doll from her, trotted across the attic and introduced the newcomer as “Lady Washington” to the other dolls, sat down on the floor beside them and began to play happily.
Anne followed Rose down the stairs and into the sink-room, where Rose began to scour her face vigorously.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, Anne,” she said laughingly, “and I’m awfully sorry I wiped your face with that dreadful inky cloth, but I have to rub hard to get it off.”
“It’s my—fault,” Anne managed to say. “I was crying.”
“There isn’t any blame in crying, if you have anything to cry about,” said Rose.
“Millicent wanted my doll,” said Anne.
Rose did not speak for a moment. She was very fond of Anne Nelson, and thought her a very generous and thoughtful child, and could not understand why she should cry because little Millicent had taken what Rose called to herself “an old wooden doll.”
“Well,” she said, “Millicent won’t hurt your doll.”
“But she wants to keep it,” said Anne, as Rose gave her face a vigorous wiping with a rough towel.
Rose made no answer. She thought it rather selfish of Anne, when they had all done so much for her, that she should be unwilling for Millicent to keep the doll.