The dolls went quickly after that, all except the queen. She sat up high on the tree, and her eyes had a frightened look, as though she did not like orphans. Once Santa Claus took her down, but Evelyn put her back again.
"Not that one, Frank," I heard her cry.
He turned and whispered something to her behind the tree. The branches were very thick, but for a moment I almost thought that his face grew different, younger and fairer, and with a gleam of triumphant laughter about it quite unlike the Santa Claus that he had been before. Then he changed again, and came out, with his long beard flowing and his fierce white eyebrows frowning, to give away more dolls.
At the very end of all he picked up the queen, and called gruffly, "Rhoda!"
I peered out of my corner at the orphans. I could not see any orphan Rhoda among them. Just suppose that Santa Claus should mean me! He did mean me! He beckoned with what he thought was a friendly look.
"Rhoda," Evelyn cried. "Why, you're not afraid, are you, dear?"
"No," I answered, hastily.
I do not think that she quite believed me, for she took me by the hand and led me up to where Santa Claus stood waiting with the queen in his arms. It was evident that he had forgotten everything, everything that I had ever told him.
"This is for you," he said in a genial way, holding out the doll.