“I am,” admitted Caroline. “And I don’t know any of them. I never saw my half-aunt Martha, and I don’t know anything about my half-cousins, but I do hope they have a piano, and that there aren’t too many babies.”
“Don’t you like ’em?” queried Jacqueline.
“I—I’m kind of tired of them,” Caroline confessed shamefacedly. “I stayed with Cousin Delia after Muzzy died, and she had twins besides two odd ones, and when one fretted, the others always kept him company.”
“You ought to shake ’em,” counseled Jacqueline. “Shake ’em good and hard. I would! You’re too meek. Don’t you let your old half-aunt go and boss you.”
“But—but she’s giving me a home,” persisted Caroline. “That is, if we get along. If we don’t——”
“Well?” said Jacqueline, with shameless curiosity.
“I suppose I’ll go to an—an Institution,” whispered Caroline. “You know—orphan asylum.”
“Oh!” said Jacqueline, again blankly. There seemed nothing more to say. But she did have the inspiration to put Mildred into Caroline’s arms, and Caroline hugged her dumbly, with her dark little head bent low over Mildred’s sleek gold curls.
“You’d better keep the chocolates,” said Jacqueline, in a brisk little voice. “I always have lots, and the box will be nice to put your doll’s clothes in.”
“I—I oughtn’t to,” gasped Caroline, overcome with the glory of the gift.