“Yes. My mother, I remember, had just such a doll when she was a little girl, and, if I am not mistaken, she still has it.”
“But I would not rob her of it.”
“She would give it willingly if I were to state the case. You or I would do it.”
Lisa inwardly thanked him for the implied suggestion of her generosity. “And you can be very certain,” Mr. Danforth continued, “that my mother will give me the doll to do with as I wish, since it would afford me a very great pleasure.”
“You are very good,” returned Lisa. “We shall only need the head, you know.”
“Yes; and when I go home next week I will send it to you.”
“Are you going next week?” asked Lisa, suddenly taken off her guard and displaying more interest than she intended.
“Yes. I must be with my mother a little while. I have promised Walter to go back with him, for Ned declines to return in anything less than a steamboat. Basil will not require further coaching, and he has promised to help Miss Persis with her Latin, so I can easily be spared.”
“Grandma will miss you,” said Lisa. But that night when the house was silent she lay awake a long time. Life looked more serious to her than ever before. Perhaps she would best go to college. No; she would think of something else to do to rouse her best self. What did he—Mr. Danforth—mean by saying that—that strange thing? Perhaps he talked so to her for the same reason her mother did. “A mother is the best friend one can have.” He said that too. Did he mean, then, it was for friendship’s sake, or—or——? And Lisa buried her face in her pillow.
