"But I want you to come."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't; run away."
"Must I go alone?" asked Dorrie sadly.
"Yes, of course you must." And she went.
Shock-headed Mab, Alice, and Daisy in the jaunting mail-cart, Dorrie drawing it, playing pony and careful mamma all in one; out at the gate, along the road to the copse; a river came running and babbling along by the road, as one neared the copse. Inside the copse the doves were cooing, squirrels leaping, the cuckoo crying, as the mite went along. What would send her back? Not her baby conscience, for Annie had told her to go all by herself—big, big Annie, ever so big.
At home, the afternoon wore away, tea-time came; nurse ran down from the nursery to the dining-room to fetch her two little charges. Only Annie was there, who started up from her book, like a girl awaking from sleep.
"Why, Miss Annie, I thought Dorrie was here!" cried nurse, in surprise.
