"No, not now—I did have"—and pain crept into the sweet little face. "Mamma gave me a pretty doll the last Christmas— oh, I loved it so! But after I went to live with Aunt Jane I helped her 'most all the time I was out of school, and I did n't have much time to play with Phebe—she was named for mamma. Phebe was mamma's name. So finally Aunt Jane said that Maude might just as well have my doll. I felt as if I could n't give her up, but I had to—" Polly's lip quivered, and she swallowed hard.
"Poor little girl!" Mrs. Jocelyn put out a hand and gently stroked the bright curls. "How could anybody be so cruel!"
"I would n't have cared—much, if Maude had loved Phebe; but she did n't. She'd swing her round by one leg, and pull her hair when she got mad, or—anything. It seemed as if I could n't stant it!"
"Bless you! I don't see how you could!" sympathized her listener.
"Why, I had to!" replied Polly simply. "But one day—I never told anybody this, even Miss Lucy—one day Aunt Jane took the children to a circus, and I stayed home all alone. After they'd been gone about half an hour I went and dug as deep a hole as I could right in the middle of the clothes-yard—the woman upstairs was gone, too, so she could n't see me—and I wrapped Phebe up in a clean piece of paper, after I'd kissed her and bid her good-bye—and then I buried her! It 'most killed me to do it; but I could n't see any other way. Do you think it was dreadfully wicked?"
Polly looked up with wet, appealing eyes, and, to her amazement, saw that tears were running down the little lady's cheeks.
"Wicked!" Mrs. Jocelyn ejaculated. "If nobody ever did anything more wicked than that it would be a blessed sort of world! NO, dearest; I'm glad you were brave enough to do it—as glad as can be! But what did they say when the came home? Did n't they miss the doll?"
"Not that night; they were so excited about the circus. They never said a word till some time the next morning; then Maude wondered where Phebe was. I was dreadfully afraid they'd ask me if I knew; but Maude only looked for her a little while—she did n't love her a bit. Aunt Jane told her she was probably kicking round somewhere, and it served her right for not taking better of her. I guess they forgot all about her pretty soon; but I did n't—I never shall forget Phebe!"
Mrs. Jocelyn put her arm around Polly, and held her close, murmuring sympathetic words, which were very comforting to the bereft little mother.
"How did Phebe look?" asked Mrs. Jocelyn, at last. "Do you want to tell me?"