“What delicate fine stitches!” she said. “Did you make this dress yourself, Jacqueline?”
“No, Aunt Eunice. I can’t sew as well as that.” Indeed, thought Caroline with pride, not many people could sew as nicely as her mother, who had made that precious wardrobe of Mildred’s, every stitch.
“Do you like to sew?” went on Aunt Eunice, with a little, mysterious smile.
“Oh, yes,” said Caroline, truthfully.
There had been long hours in her life, when school was over and Mother away giving music lessons, when she must either run the streets or amuse herself in their room. Mother had beguiled her with handiwork to choose the room, and not the street. Caroline sewed really rather better than most little girls of her age, and she liked to sew. She wished that Aunt Eunice could see the pair of rompers she had made, all alone, for Cousin Delia’s youngest baby.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Aunt Eunice. “I’ll get out some pretty silk pieces, and you and I will make this dolly some new dresses. It’s years and years since I’ve had a doll to sew for. Would you like that, Jacqueline?”
Caroline smiled and patted Aunt Eunice’s plump white hand.
“I’d just love it, Aunt Eunice. Can we begin to-day? I don’t want to lose any time.”
Indeed she didn’t, the poor little impostor! She wanted to squeeze all that she could into every moment that she passed in this dream-house. For the moments, as she knew, might already be numbered.
But there was no doll’s dressmaking that morning, for just then Sallie came briskly through the garden with a message. Miss Jacqueline’s trunk had been sent up, and Miss Penelope wished her to come at once and see about unpacking.