“N—o—, but—I have wanted to, oh so much, for some time I shall die, and while I have sinned much, I want some one to know that I was reared right, and that even after I had fallen from the great white throne of purity I had some good thoughts, but I have always been afraid to tell any one especially since⸺” here the creature broke down entirely, moaning and writhing in bitter agony.
“Since when?” asked the man, gently, as she seemed to get her grief partially under control.
“Oh, since I have gotten so low.”
“Come, now, you’re not so bad off, and besides you are going to tell me the truth, and I am going to believe you, for a woman never gets too low, even in her own estimation, to tell the truth when she refers to a beautiful past.”
“Oh, yes, if it were all as you say, but then I think I will tell you,” said the girl, bravely.
“My parents were natives of the New England states. When I was four years old they removed from our eastern home to a small town in McLean county, Illinois. My father was a Baptist minister, and I was taught all the principles of the true Christian and, believe me, I enjoyed the Sunday-schools, prayer-meetings and all the devotional exercises. Music always charmed me and when the question arose as to whether or not an organ should be placed in the church, I think it was due to my influence over my father that one was installed there, for he opposed it at first. The most looked for event of the year was Christmas time, for it was the custom to have a Christmas tree at the church, at which time the music would excel all other occasions. Once the local paper of our town offered a fine, large doll (lifelike in every particular) as a prize to the girl over nine years and under twelve years of age, who would write the best Christmas story, the stories to be published several weeks before Christmas. The names of the writers were to be kept secret, while the patrons of the papers sent in votes denoting their choice; the doll was given Christmas eve. I think as I now look back over a career that is not spotless, that the moment when the great wax figure with the big blue eyes and masses of soft, fluffy hair, the kid body of which was clothed in the finest array imaginable, was placed in my arms, was the happiest moment of all my life. I knew I had sent in a story, but never dreamed of being the winner; my heart was full, my life complete. I had no longings or dreads; my childish competitors took their defeat like little women; the next week my parents assisted me in giving my first party and the invitations were issued only to those dear little friends, who had competed for the prize; we called it a christening party, for we named the dollie.
“Tired, aren’t you?” said the girl.
“No—go on!”
“I cannot understand how all this stuff about my dolls, etc., will interest you.”