"You are not my mother, I don't have to come," encouraged by Bubbles, she said.
"You are a very bad, impertinent child. Come at once. I want you to go and bring in those toys that are lying out on the ground cluttering up the place."
"I'll do that," said Eleanor, turning to Bubbles. "I'll be there directly," she called to Mrs. Murdoch. "Tell me before we go, Bubbles, when are you going to Sylvy? I won't tell."
"Wednesday, when de butterman comes. I'll sneak out an' tek my bun'le an' git in de wagon."
"He comes in the morning when I am at school, doesn't he?"
"Yass, miss."
"All right, I reckon you'd better do that. I am sorry, but oh, Bubbles, I shall miss you."
Bubbles' fists went up to her eyes and she sat sniffling as Eleanor departed.
The latter went immediately to the garden, taking no notice of Donald, except to make a face at him as she began removing her toys. He answered with a mocking "Cry-baby!" and Eleanor longed with helpless rage to do something to punish him, but she could only toil back and forth from the big house to the little one, carrying her toys, her books, her pictures. The broken doll she took up tenderly looking down upon it with sorrowful eyes. "You were such a pretty little thing," she whispered, "and I did love you so much. Oh, that wicked boy! I'd like to see how he would feel if some big giant were to dash his brains out on the ground; you poor dear little thing. You were such a nice size to play with, and I could do all sorts of things with you that I can't do with my big dolls."
She was very tired when the last one of her possessions was removed, but she called Jessie and told her that she meant to bury her dear Florence, and Jessie cheerfully acquiesced when asked to attend the funeral. So Florence was buried under a lilac bush, and then Eleanor dragged her tired little legs into the house, feeling as if the clouds were gathering thick and fast over her usually sunny sky.