Their grandmother was making a list of the books, for some of the boxes were to go to her in New York, others to the Town Library, while many of them they were to keep themselves. All the medical books were to be left in their father’s office for the new doctor to dispose of as he thought best.
“Do you know, mother, how many children the doctor has, and whether they are boys or girls?” Peggy asked.
“No, he just said ‘children’ in his letter.”
“I hope there will be a girl, and that she will like to play with dolls,” said Alice.
“But you’ve Clara, I don’t see what more you want,” said Peggy.
“But Clara is never here in the winter,” said Alice.
That night, after the children had gone to bed, they began to talk about the doctor’s family. It was the last night they were to spend in the old house, and they felt a little sad as they climbed into the mahogany four-poster bedstead, for the room looked desolate. The curtains had been packed, and all the furniture was gone except the bed.
“Anyway, we’ll be sleeping on it to-morrow night,” said Peggy. “We’ll have Roxanna Bedpost with us just the same.”
She looked at the lower bedpost at her right that she had christened by this name when she was a tiny child, because her mother had hung Peggy’s blue sunbonnet on it.
“Shut up your eyes, Peggy, and see things,” said Alice. “Perhaps you can see the children who are going to live here.”