“You can stand here,” said Betsey, setting up the host and hostess by the little Victrola, “and then you will be all ready when the children arrive.”
And she went down to get ready herself.
“Don’t you think it would be nice, Betsey,” said Mother, as she buttoned Betsey’s blue cashmere dress, “if you should make a few clothes for Molly’s children? Just some odd things like a kimono or a sweater?”
“I’m going to,” said Betsey happily, nodding her curly head. “I have an old gray golf-glove that I can make a sweater of,——the wrist for the sweater part, and two fingers for the sleeves.”
“That’s my kind daughter,” said Mother, approvingly. “Now run down and let the doctor in.”
“Here are those three children!” cried Dr. Lawrence, holding out a square box. “Please hurry and take them! Bless me! I didn’t take a minute’s comfort for fear I should smash them to bits! Can I come to the party? How’s the throat?”
Betsey laughed at his list of questions and opened her mouth obediently.
“Fine! Fine!” said the doctor, peering at the throat over his spectacles. “Christmas day will find you as well as ever. Now, for that, can’t I come to the party?”
“If you’d like to,” said Betsey, her eyes dancing, for she knew that Dr. Lawrence would make the best playmate a little girl ever had. And she led the way with Molly’s dolls, all dressed in the new party dresses, made since morning by the delighted Molly,—every stitch by hand.
“Well, what a fine man your Mr. Delight is!” declared Dr. Lawrence, sitting down heavily in the big chair before the doll-house.