Of course Nan never locked her door. But who would touch a thing belonging to her? And her doll! Why, she was sure the family did not even know she had such a possession.
Almost wildly the girl ran out of her chamber and into the sitting room, where the family was still gathered around the evening lamp, Rafe cleaning his shot-gun, Tom reading slowly the local paper, published at the Forks, Aunt Kate mending, and Uncle Henry sitting at the open window with his pipe.
“Oh, it's gone!” gasped Nan, as she burst into the room.
“What's gone?” asked Aunt Kate, and Uncle Henry added: “What's happened to you, honey-bird?”
“My Beulah!” cried Nan, almost sobbing. “My Beulah, she's been taken!”
“My mercy, child!” cried Aunt Kate, jumping up. “Are you crazy?”
“Who's Beulah?” demanded Rafe, looking up from his gun and, Nan thought, showing less surprise than the others.
“My Beulah doll,” said Nan, too troubled now to care whether the family laughed at her or not. “My Beautiful Beulah. Somebody's played a trick.”
“A doll!” shouted Rafe, and burst into a chatter of laughter.
“Mercy me, child!” repeated Aunt Kate. “I didn't know you had a doll.”