Mrs. D. Oh, cut it short! What you have to tell is that the child there has broken one of the dolls, isn't it?
Bonnet [mutters]. That's it, ma'am.
Mrs. D. And you've kept her here when she ought to have been in bed these hours, to bear the first burst of my displeasure—— [Mrs. Darling says so much in a hard voice, with an appearance of cold anger; here her voice suddenly dies, and she bursts out crying like a vexed, injured child.] I declare it's too bad! [She sobs, reckless of making a spectacle of herself, while all look on in consternation.] I declare it's too bad! It's no use! It doesn't matter what I do—it's always the same! It's always taken for granted that I will conduct myself like a beast. Who can wonder, after that, if I do? Here I find them, pale as sheets, the five of them shaking in their boots, because a forlorn little child has broken a miserable doll. And what is it supposed I shall do about it? Didn't I dress the hundred of them for children, and little poor children, too? And I must have known they would get broken, of course. Why did I dress them? What did I spend months dressing them for? Solely for show, they think,—not for any charity, any kindness, any love of children, or anything in the world but to make an effect on an occasion—to make myself a merit with the parson, perhaps! [Her crying seems to become less of anger and nervousness, and more of sorrow.] Oh, it is too bad! One would imagine I never said a decent thing or did a kind act to anyone. And, Heaven knows it's not for lack of trying to change. But no one sees the difference! I am treated like a vixen and a terror. And the people about me hate and fear and deceive me! A proof of it to-night. Oh, the lesson! Oh, I wasn't meant for this! I wasn't meant for it! When I think of last Sunday's sermon and how straight to my heart it went. Oh, I am a fool to cry! [Dries her eyes, and holds out her hand to Tibbie.] Come here to me, dear child. What is your name? What? A little louder! What did you say? Tibbie! Oh, what a nice, funny name! You didn't think I was going to scold you, did you, dear? Of course not! It was an accident; I understand all about it. I used to break my dolls' heads frequently, I remember very well. [Puts her arm about Tibbie and tries to make her head easy on her shoulder. Tibbie, however, cannot relax, and rests uncomfortably against her.] Let us see, dear, now, what we can do to make us both feel happier. I dressed all those dolls for little children I am not acquainted with at all. Which of them would you like the very best? Which should you like for your very own?
[Tibbie cannot move nor speak, but her eyes
travel towards the dolls.
Sally [comes beamingly to Tibbie's aid]. The bride, Tibbie, the bride!
Mrs. D. The bride? Which one is that? That one? Of course! [Reaches for it, and Sally hands it to her.] There, my dear. [Tibbie takes the doll loosely, without breath of thanks. Mrs. D. reviews the dolls, and Tibbie's hand is stretched involuntarily towards the broken one.] Of course, of course, you would want that poor dolly to nurse back to health. Now, dear, isn't there one more you would like? [Tibbie's confusion overwhelms her.] I'll choose one for you, and you shall call her Cynthia, after me. How would you like that? Suppose we say this one with the forget-me-nots? She looks a little like me, doesn't she, with her hair parted in the middle? Her dress is made of a piece of one of my own, and that blue is my favorite color. [Rising.] There, Tibbie, now you have two whole dollies, and part of another. You must run right home to bed. A Merry Christmas to you, dear child. I am very happy to have made your acquaintance.
Tibbie [shyly, but heartily]. I think you are good—good. And, please,—I'd like—if you wouldn't mind—I'd like to kiss you!
[Mrs. Darling bends suddenly, and catches
the child in her arms.
CURTAIN