In the first place, Patty fell downstairs. She was on her way to the kitchen where Grandmother was baking a cake, and in her arms she carried Isabel, the doll she loved the very best of all. Indeed, Isabel was the only doll that Patty had brought with her from home. She was a china dolly, with pretty golden curls and blue eyes that opened and shut, and she wore a blue dress with pockets, very much like one of Patty’s own.
Now, as I said, Patty was on her way downstairs with Isabel in her arms when suddenly she tripped and fell. Down the whole flight of stairs she went, bumping on every single step, it seemed, and landed in a little heap at the foot of the stairs.
Grandmother heard the sound of the fall, and came hurrying out of the kitchen with a cup full of sugar in one hand and a big spoon in the other.
‘My precious Patty! Are you hurt?’ cried Grandmother, picking Patty up and rubbing her back and rocking her to and fro all at the same time.
When Patty could stop crying, she shook her head.
‘No,’ she said, with a little sniff, ‘I think I am not hurt. But where is Isabel?’
Oh, poor Isabel! She lay over by the front door, her head broken into a hundred pieces!
At first Patty couldn’t believe her eyes. Isabel broken! Then whom would Patty play with? Whom would she dress and undress and take out for a walk every day? Who would lie beside her on the bed at night while Grandmother was reading by the lamp downstairs and Patty felt the need of some one to keep her company just before she fell asleep?
Isabel broken to pieces!
Then Patty did cry.