“Do you think you will have ice cream every day for dinner, Lydia?” asked Polly.
Lydia didn’t know what to think, but Mary Ellen answered for her.
“Of course,” said Mary Ellen emphatically, “and perhaps pie, too. And always griddle cakes for breakfast.”
“Oh, I wish some one would take me,” said Polly longingly. “If I was prettier maybe they would.” And Polly sighed as she wistfully felt of her little snub nose.
“Pooh!” said Sammy with a defiant air, “I don’t care! I’m going to live with a cowboy out West and ride three horses at once, I am. Maybe I’ll shoot Indians, too. I don’t care!”
But they all looked at Lydia as if they thought her a fortunate little girl, and indeed Lydia herself thought so, too.
“Perhaps you will come and see me sometimes,” said she, giving what comfort she could, “and we will have more of those good little cakes.”
This happy suggestion made them all feel better. And when Mrs. Blake came to take Lydia away, there were only smiling faces and cheerful good-byes; for the last thing Mrs. Blake said was:
“Lydia is going to have a party some day very soon and she wants you all to come. Don’t you, Lydia?”
Lydia, smiling, nodded. “I told you so,” to her friends, and held tight to Mrs. Blake’s hand as they went down the street. Every now and then she gave a skip, but only a very little one, for she carried Lucy Locket in her arms. Mrs. Blake was as happy as Lydia, and you had only to look at the smile on her lips and in her eyes to know it.