With a sigh she opened the other letter and read the pretty, evenly written words:
“Dear little neighbor who is so far away. You can’t think how lonely it seems to have the big house next door closed up so tight. Every morning I go to the window hoping to wave you a greeting in the old way, but all I see is a drawn curtain and a snow-piled ledge. How suddenly everything happened! Truly, Geraldine, I do envy you. One can have such a nice time in a village and I have the dearest cousin living in Sunnyside. You have often heard me speak of Doris Drexel, but you were away last year when she visited me. I’ll write a little note of introduction, and I do wish that you would take it today and call upon my dear Cousin Doris. Tell her that you are the friend I love most and that we have been chums ever since our doll days, though truly my doll days aren’t over yet. I have the tenderest feeling for Peggoty Anne and I tell her all my secrets.
“You will be sorry to hear that Muriel and I are not on speaking terms. I did not mean to hurt her, but she thinks I did. Now, dear little neighbor, do write real soon to your loving, lonesome friend.
“Adelaine.”
And so she had to choose between them. How different the two girls were, she mused. Both sixteen, but one was vain and pretty, thinking only of clothes and boys, while the other, still a little girl at heart, told secrets to her doll.
Geraldine smiled as she remembered the Christmas when that doll had first arrived. What happy times she and Adelaine had had together. They had been playmates for years, and what a loyal friend her little neighbor had always been. Springing up from her chair, she opened her desk as she thought, “I’ll write to Adelaine this very moment and tell her that I am just as lonely for her as she is for me.”
For the next half hour, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the scratching of the pen. Geraldine had made her choice.
When the letter was finished, the girl arose and slipped on her beautiful blue velvet coat with its deep squirrel fur collar and cuffs and a jaunty blue velvet cap. Then, going down the hall, she tapped on a closed door.
“Who’s there?” the voice sounded as though it came from the depths of many cushions, as indeed it did, for Alfred, buried among them on his lounge, was reading an absorbing story.
“Brother, I wish you would drive me into the village. I have a letter that I would like to mail today.”