For winter is come and the days grow cold.”
Elsa’s baby companions, tired of walking, dropped down in little patient heaps upon the floor, saying in soft voices: “Sing more! More song!”
“Oh!”
Miss Ruth turned at Elsa’s exclamation and saw her kneeling by the side of a child of about seven years, who was hugging an old, battered china doll. The child was strapped to a frame which held her body straight, because her back was not like other children’s. “Let me hold your dolly a moment,” Elsa was saying, although Ruth Warren could not hear the words.
“No! No! Dirl take dolly ’way!” cried the little girl, who had a ruddy face and dark, sparkling eyes.
Miss Ruth, still talking with the head-nurse, watched Elsa, unheeded by her.
“Where did you get the dolly?” Elsa asked, longing to take her old doll into her arms, for she had instantly known her own Bettina.
“Lady dave her to me,” said the child.
“What is the dolly’s name?” asked Elsa.
“Dolly.” The child looked up solemnly.