“Yes,” replied Miss Ruth: “I have the large box and the two smaller boxes.”
“O, do show them to us, please,” Betty entreated. The others waited with greatest interest.
“I thought you might like to see them, so I brought them down.” Ruth Warren rose and took from a drawer of her writing-desk a richly lacquered box; and the girls, with Ben, spent the next few moments in examining and admiring the big box, the smaller boxes, and the dainty ivory articles.
“I brought down something else to show you,” Miss Ruth said. “Can you guess what?”
“A stuffed Arctic owl,” suggested Ben, taking a fresh supply of plum buns while he was up.
“O, Ben! Can’t you think of anything but birds and horses and hens’ eggs!” cried Betty.
“Yes,—I think of the poor little Convalescings,” said Ben self-defensively.
“I know, I know!” exclaimed Elsa, almost breathlessly. “It is Susie!”
“Elsa has guessed right. It is Susie,—the little old lady’s doll,” said Miss Ruth, going to the tall mahogany bookcase which wholly filled one side of the room. The children followed her and watched with closest attention while she took from a lower shelf a large white box. Unrolling the stout white-paper covering, she opened the box-cover, took out the old-fashioned doll, and held her up before the children’s eyes.
Betty was the first to speak. “What a queer old thing,” she said.