‘My dolly! My dolly!’ she wailed. ‘My dolly is broken! My dolly!’
She struggled out of Grandmother’s arms to the floor, and there, sobbing and crying as loud as ever she could, she danced up and down. She felt so badly she simply couldn’t stand still.
At first Grandmother didn’t say a word. Very carefully she picked up all that was left of Isabel. Then she took Patty by the hand.
‘Patty,’ said Grandmother firmly, ‘stop crying and stand still.’
Patty was so surprised to hear Grandmother speak in this way that she did stop crying and stood still.
‘Patty,’ went on Grandmother cheerfully—so cheerfully that Patty couldn’t help listening to what Grandmother had to say—‘Patty, we are going to find a box and put Isabel in it. Then we will send her home to Mother, who will buy a new head for her, I know. We will play that Isabel has been in an accident and that she has gone down South to be cured. That is what Mother did last winter when she was so ill, you remember.’
Patty nodded slowly. Perhaps Isabel could be cured, after all.
‘But whom will I play with while she is gone?’ asked Patty with a quiver in her voice. ‘I don’t like Darky. He scratches and spits.’
Darky was a black barn cat who lived next door to Grandmother, and it is quite true that he was not a pleasant playmate for a little girl.
‘There is no one for me to play with but you, Grandmother,’ finished Patty, two plump tears rolling down her cheeks as she thought how lonely she would be now without Isabel.