“Do you like her? Is she a nice little girl?”
“I think so.”
“What is her name?”
“Her name is Violet.”
Violet gave such a jump that Winifred could not help laughing.
“Yes, Vi dear, the box is for you if you will have it, and you are to take it home with you to-night. You see, I’m getting too old now to care for dolls and toys, and then—and then—Well, I thought perhaps you would like them, and I should like you to have them, because I have been fond of them, and I know you will take care of them. And so the box is yours now.”
It was some time before Violet could really believe the wonderful news, and then it seemed as if she could not thank Winifred enough. She kissed her and hugged her, and showed in every way in her power how delighted she was; and Winifred felt very glad she had thought of a way to make her little friend so happy.
“You are the dearest Winnie in the world,” said Violet, nestling close up to her at last. “I love you a whole lot.” And by-and-by she added, after a little pause, “You are not going away anywhere, are you, Winnie?”
“I don’t quite know,” answered Winifred slowly. “What makes you think so?”
“I thought I heard papa and mamma say something like it—something about how you would be missed—how sorry people would be when you had gone. I could not be quite sure, but I thought they were talking about you, Winnie. When I asked mamma she would not tell me, but I thought she looked somehow as if it was true; is it, Winnie?”