‘He has Tilly Maud, Alice’s doll,’ gasped Sally, her eyes big with excitement and her hair standing out all round her head. ‘Stop him, Mother, won’t you? He has Alice’s doll.’
‘She is all I have,’ wailed Alice, finding her voice. ‘She is all the dolly I have. My other dolls are packed away at home.’
Out on the back porch they all three hurried, only to see naughty Tippy racing round and round in the grass, flinging Tilly Maud up in the air, dragging her along the ground, and then running as hard and fast as ever a little brown dog could run.
Mother stepped inside and back she came with a broom. Tippy rolled his eye up at the porch. He saw the broom.
With one great fling he tossed Tilly Maud up in the air, and then off rushed Tippy and out of sight before you could say ‘Jack Robinson.’
At a nod from Mother down the steps darted Sally, but, oh! what a sad dolly it was that she brought back and laid on the porch at Mother’s and Alice’s feet.
Dirty, wet, bedraggled, torn!
Tears sprang to Sally’s eyes and tears rolled down Alice’s cheeks as they looked at poor, miserable Tilly Maud lying there.
Even Mother’s face grew sober for a moment. Then she stooped and tenderly raised Tilly Maud from the ground.
‘The first thing to do is to dry Tilly Maud,’ said Mother. ‘It may be, when she is dry and cleaned, that she will be fit to play with again. And the next thing to do is to put on our hats and coats and rubbers and go down the street to Captain Ball’s.’