Cassy agreed, although in her secret heart she preferred the garden first, last, and always. Then up-stairs they went to a bright sunny room which Cassy thought the prettiest she had ever seen.
There was a big table, covered with magazines, in the middle of the floor; the window held flowering plants; a number of comfortable chairs and a wide, soft lounge looked as if they were meant for every-day use, while the room had just enough pretty trifles in it to make it look well. The pictures on the walls were a few water-colors, flower pieces and landscapes; while the walls themselves were a soft green with a border of trailing roses. Sitting by the window was a pretty woman, as charming as the room itself.
“Aunt Dora,” said Eleanor, “this is Cassy Law.”
Mrs. Dallas held out her hand.
“I am so glad you could come, Cassy,” she said. “I know Eleanor and you will enjoy playing together. What do you say to having this room to play in this morning? You are going to have luncheon in the garden, or at least Rock has a little scheme that he and John are carrying out, and unless you would specially like to play there, I have my suspicions that they would rather you would keep out of the way this morning, and let them give you a surprise. You can have the whole afternoon there, you know.”
“Oh, do let it be a surprise,” exclaimed Eleanor. “I love surprises. Don’t you, Cassy?”
“Sometimes,” she replied. She felt rather shy as yet, and stood somewhat in awe of this pretty lady in her dainty morning gown.
“I am going to lend Cassy the dolls to play with,” said Mrs. Dallas to Eleanor, “Rock’s and mine, you know; and you will have your precious Rubina, so you will both be provided.” She left the room for a moment and returned bringing a doll dressed in boy’s clothes and another in girl’s clothes; the latter was quite an old-fashioned one.
“These are Marcus Delaplaine and Flora McFlimsey,” said Mrs. Dallas. “They are both Rock’s now, although Flora used to be mine when I was a little girl, so naturally she is much older than Marcus. Rock was always fonder of his own doll when he was a little fellow. He used to say he felt more at home with him. You know where the piece bag is, Eleanor, and if you want to make doll’s clothes you can help yourselves. You don’t have to call the doll Flora if you’d rather name her something else,” she said, smiling down at Cassy, and holding the doll of her childish days affectionately.
“Oh, but I would like to,” Cassy replied. “My doll is named Flora.”