“O no,” I said, “Susie is a doll, and she is going to be mine some day.”
Mother didn’t ask any more questions. She only said “Oh!” in a funny way.
After that, little by little, I forgot about the doll. Grandmother came to live with us, so I didn’t visit her again. But when I was sixteen years old, and had given up playing with dolls, a big bundle came to me by express one day, and in it was Susie dressed in a brown travelling suit. All her other clothes were in the bundle. Miss Dean had died, and had left directions to have the bundle sent to me. With it was a note which Miss Dean had written.
“Have you kept the note?” Betty asked curiously. The three girls had finished all the painting and had quietly drawn around the fire, during the last few moments.
“Yes; here it is.” From a yellowed envelope on her desk, Ruth Warren drew forth a small sheet of paper and read:
“Dear Little Ruth:—
“When this reaches you, Susie will go with it. She has really been yours ever since that day of our party, and I thank you gratefully for letting me keep her. I have loved her dearly. Some of us poor lonely old folks are not much more than grown-up children. I know you will have a happy time playing with her, and when you are ready to give her away, I hope it will be to some little girl who will love her as fondly as you and I love her.
“Your affectionate friend,
“Phœbe Dean.”
“What a dear story!” sighed Elsa. “And how much the poor little old lady must have cared for Susie.”
“You have kept all her dresses?” inquired Betty, eying the doll with new interest.