Peggy put the box in a bag, and some other presents for Diana, from Mrs. Owen and Alice and herself; and they put in a few of their presents and cards to show her. It was very slippery. Their mother went with them as far as the Thorntons’ and she carried the bag. Then Peggy carried it, for a time, and then Alice. Peggy fell down once. She landed on the back of her head, but she held the bag out in front of her so the egg should not get broken.
Diana was delighted to see them. She was in bed, in a pretty brown woolen dressing-gown, that was just the shade of her hair and eyes. The bed was covered with books and games, and there were two dolls leaning against the footboard, and one in Diana’s arms. She was a pretty doll, with yellow hair, almost the color of Peggy’s hair, and eyes that opened and shut.
“See, she shuts her eyes tight, just as you do, Peggy, when you are thinking hard,” said Diana. “She looks quite a lot like you.”
“Her eyes are blue and mine are gray,” said Peggy. “I wonder why they never make dolls with gray eyes.”
“She is named for you,” Diana announced. “Tom and Christopher gave her to me, and she came with her name written on a Christmas card that was pinned to her dress, ‘Peggy Owen Carter,’ and Tom wrote a poem that came with her.”
Diana hunted through the box which held her Christmas cards and letters, and finally found the verses, which she read aloud.
“Closed in her room, in her white bed,
Poor little suffering martyr,
While others skate or coast with sled,
There lies Diana Carter.
“But she’s so joyous in her mind,
She makes our Christmas merry.
She’s quite adorably kind,
With lips like a red berry.
A holly berry, bright and gay,
Some children may be smarter,
But there’s no child on Christmas Day
Sweeter than dear Di Carter.
“So, while in her white bed she lies,
Poor little Christmas martyr,
We give her as a glad surprise,
Miss Peggy Owen Carter.
“Her eyes are blue, her hair is gold,
She surely is a charmer.
We rescued her, like knights of old,
And vowed that naught should harm her.
“For she was living in a shop,
In a glass case, this treasure,
Where she could neither run nor hop,
With weary months of leisure.
“So Peggy Owen Carter comes,
With joyous Christmas greeting,
A carol gay, she softly hums,
Joy’s long, if time is fleeting.”
“What a nice poem,” said Peggy, with a sigh of envy.
“Yes, isn’t it?” said Diana.
“I wish I could write poetry like that,” said Peggy. “I just wrote one verse. It’s in my present to you.”