It was a strange scene in that humble garret home—a scene full of pathos and tender human nature. The sick child with the gaudily dressed doll clasped in her frail arms; her sister, her face radiant with happiness; and the careworn mother looking on with eyes that smiled through a mist of tears.
It was Mrs. Blundell who broke the silence in words that came straight from a heart full of thankfulness and gratitude:
"There, children! You have had a beautiful Christmas present! You have no idea who the kind gentleman was, my dear? No. Well, God bless him, whoever he may be!"
[CHAPTER III]
CONCERNING JIM BLEWETT AND HIS LANDLADY
THE following morning the children awoke early, and the chill winter's dawn found them busily discussing the marvellous attractions of the wonderful doll. Annie was so excited that she could scarcely eat a mouthful of breakfast, and Maggie was nearly as bad. It was certainly not an inviting meal, being composed of a little weak tea and slices of bread and dripping; but the children ate so sparingly. Annie, posted up in bed, looked better than usual. She was a pretty child really, but sickness had made her wan, and had sharpened her features till she seemed all nose and eyes.
"What shall we call her?" she asked, pointing to the doll lying on the counterpane by her side. "She must have a name."
"Call her 'Rose,'" suggested Mrs. Blundell; "or do you want something that sounds grander?"
"I don't know," doubtfully. "What do you think, Maggie?"
"I think 'Rose' would do splendidly. She has such rosy cheeks, hasn't she?"