“Yes,” answered Elsa, hurriedly putting on her long black cloak. “Uncle Ned tells me to do just what grandmother says.”
“Who is your Uncle Ned?” inquired Betty, who was taking a few last stitches in the doll’s dress.
“Uncle Ned? He is the nicest and the dearest and the best man in all the world,” said Elsa, her violet-gray eyes growing eloquent with feeling. “He is nicer even than Prince Gray Owl, and I miss him all the time. Good-bye.” And Elsa ran away with her wide black felt hat hanging from her arm, and with something very much like tears shining in her eyes.
Betty had sewed rapidly, and now she held up a second doll’s dress, finished.
“Good, Betty!” said Miss Ruth. “Let me count how many we have done,—your two, Elsa and Alice each one, and two of mine, six in all, out of the twenty-four; it will take us just three meetings more to finish the eighteen dresses that are left.”
“Then we can do some paper dolls, and rag dolls,” said Alice, clapping her hands softly.
“Maybe I could help about the paper dolls;” Ben made the suggestion with a rather careless air. “I could paint dresses, because I know what looks pretty. When I grow up to be a man I am going to earn a lot of money and buy pretty dresses for Alice, and I’m going to get her a black lace one and a yellowy brown one trimmed with fur,” he said, slowly.
Miss Ruth nodded encouragingly as she met Ben’s earnest blue eyes.
“I will give you some of the pretty dresses, Betty,” said Alice unselfishly, feeling perfectly sure that Ben would do whatever he promised.
Betty almost said, “I have prettier dresses now than you have,” but she stopped just in time and said instead: “I will give you a blue velvet dress, like Princess Katrina’s.”