I held my breath till Miss Dean answered: “That isn’t Ruth’s doll—yet; but it is one I am going to give her.”
If grandmother had been looking in my direction, I am sure she would have seen me jump at the thought that Susie was to be mine.
“How kind of you, Phœbe,” grandmother said. “I hope Ruth has thanked you properly.”
Miss Dean turned toward me with a helpless expression, just as grandmother added: “Isn’t it strange how children always like to make company of their dolls and make believe they can eat?”
“I wanted to have Susie at the table,” I said eagerly, half ready to cry, because I felt so sorry for Miss Dean.
“So you have named the doll Susie,” grandmother said.
Miss Dean turned to me again with that distressed look in her brown eyes.
“No,” I said, “that was Miss Dean’s name for her, but I like it.” And after that, grandmother began talking about something else. Her visit was short. When she went, she said: “Come home soon, Ruth, or you will be tiring Miss Phœbe, and don’t forget to thank her prettily for the doll.”
After closing the door behind grandmother, Miss Dean all of a sudden dropped into a chair. “I was going to give the doll to you, anyway, Ruth,” she said, hardly above a whisper. The pink colour had all gone out of her face.
“O no!” I said,—the way children do when they want a thing very much and know they ought not to take it.