“Where was that?”
“In New Orleans where I lived before we came here; before—” she hesitated, and then added in a low voice, “before I lost my mother.”
“Oh!” Jessie gazed at her with sympathetic eyes. She had never known, before this, any little girl who had not a mother. “Was it very long ago?” she asked softly.
“A little over a year,” Adele told her. “I have six dolls,” she went on, changing the subject. “How many have you?”
“Five, but I like Charity the best. She is the biggest and prettiest, too. I have one a little smaller named Lucy, and a little China boy-doll I like very much; he is about so high.” She measured a height of four inches or so. “I bring him down here because he is so little that I can put him most anywhere.”
“What is his name?” asked Adele.
“Peter Pan,” returned Jessie. “Then I have a baby in long clothes and a German doll my uncle brought me when he came from Europe.”
It seemed a very interesting family to Adele who said regretfully, “My dolls are so much alike I don’t care much more for one than another. Some are newer than others; that’s all. Will you show me all your dolls some day?”
“Why, certainly,” returned Jessie warmly, adding, “I’m awfully glad you live near. There’s no one this side the bridge at all. Effie Hinsdale is the nearest, but she lives across the railroad track.”
“Aunt Betty won’t let me cross it,” said Adele.