Mrs. Fairchild was a pretty little woman, impulsive, kind-hearted, and very loyal in her friendships. One had only to look at her to know that she was good. Not a very wise woman, perhaps; but a very kind one. Her son Roger—she had lost her first two babies—was undoubtedly rather badly spoiled. Had her other children lived, Roger would certainly have been more severely disciplined.
"I'm coming tomorrow afternoon," said she, at parting, "to take this little girl for a ride."
"That'll be lovely," returned Jeanne.
After that, Mrs. Fairchild made a point of borrowing Jeanne frequently. Her comfortable little open car often stopped in the road above the Captain's old freight car to honk loudly for Jeanne, and she often carried the Cinder Pond child home with her, and kept her to meals. Mrs. Fairchild was the nearest approach to a girl companion that Jeanne had ever had. Jeanne liked the pretty, fair-haired lady, who was so delightfully young for her thirty-seven years. She also liked Mr. Fairchild child, whose clothes were quite as good as those of her Uncle Charles, while his manners were certainly better—at any rate, far more cordial.
"I'm crazy about dolls," confessed Mrs. Fairchild, one day, when she had Jeanne beside her in the little car. "I've promised to dress a whole dozen for the church guild. I want you to help me buy them right now. Won't that be fun? And we'll dress them together. You shall choose the dresses for six of them. Isn't it a shame I never had any little girls of my own?"
Of course sympathetic Mrs. Fairchild heard all about Sammy, Annie, and Patsy, and how disappointed Jeanne had been to find them missing.
"I'm worried about them," confessed Jeanne. "Their new uncle may be good to them, but I'd like to know for certain. I'm bothered most about Annie. She's such a good, gentle little thing and Mrs. Shannon was always awfully cross to her."
"While we're dressing our other dolls," said Mrs. Fairchild, "we might make a little dress for Annie."
"She's almost six," sighed Jeanne. "I do wish I could watch her grow up—and teach her to be nice. But, of course, making a dress for her will help a little!"
Of Roger, Jeanne saw but little. At first he avoided her; still, he did speak, when they met face to face; and, in the course of time, he was even able to say, "Hello, Jeanne!" without blushing.