“They’ll have to if I play on it!” Doodles’s voice held dismay.
“We won’t decide what to do till we get it,” Mrs. Stickney smiled. “It doesn’t look as if that would be very soon. I never saw such a stubborn thing as—ah!” At last the key turned, the lock clicked!
She threw back the cover, disclosing a wavy mass of pink.
“My!” cried Blue, “guess that’s her dancin’ dress.” He held up the fluffy short-skirted frock.
“Is it there?” Doodles bent forward excitedly.
His mother was lifting out more dresses, blue and yellow and white. Then came a long, green-covered something which sent the color into Doodles’s face and then drove it away.
“Lock the door!” ordered Mrs. Stickney in an undertone. Which Blue did.
She laid the instrument across the small knees, and the boy’s breath came fast and fluttering as he lifted it from its case. A look of awe stole into his eyes—his violin! his own! He clasped it to his heart, and bent his head reverently.
“Why don’t you—” began Blue, and then stopped. Doodles was giving thanks.