At the start the little girl smiled into Polly’s eyes in happy forgetfulness of her failure in duty until suddenly memory asserted itself. Then she hid her face in her little hands and broke into a wailing cry.
“Oh, Miss Dudley, I forgot! I forgot! I never did think of it till this minute! I told that sweet young man I would give it to you, and now I don’t know where it is. Oh, Miss Dudley!”
“Hush, dear,” said Polly soothingly. “It isn’t of the least consequence. I think it is not lost, and if it is, I shall not shed a single tear. Don’t cry another bit.”
The child continued to sob, while Polly, with her usual practicality, went on:—
“You were playing with your paper dolls that morning, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Dudley—the beautiful ones—that the Butterfly Lady gave us.”
Polly went to the cupboard where they were kept and looked through the envelopes. The note was not among the dolls.
“Do you remember what you wore that day?”
Esther reflected. “I think I had on my blue gingham and the white pinafore that goes with it.”
Polly examined Esther’s wardrobe, but did not see the white “pinafore.” Then she went to the big laundry hamper and looked over the clothes. The missing apron soon was in her hands, and down in the depths of the little pocket was the note.