“Oh, Neale O’Neil!” gasped Dot, hugging her cherished doll closer.
“Just think how nice Mrs. Eland was to folks in her hospital,” went on Neale, his eyes twinkling. “And Doctor Forsyth. A hospital is a mighty fine place.”
“But—but what would they do to my Alice-doll?” asked the smallest girl, seriously.
“Suppose they should give her a new complexion? Make her quite well again? Wouldn’t that be worth while?”
Dot held the really dreadful looking doll away from her and gazed with loving eyes upon the wreck of her former pink and white beauty.
“She is just as—as dear to me as ever she was,” she sighed. “But I s’pose her complexion is muddy—and her nose is flattened a little—and her lips aren’t red any more--and her eyes are washed out. But—but are you sure they won’t hurt her?”
“We’ll have to find a hospital where they agree not to hurt,” said Neale seriously.
“Now you’ve got yourself in a mess, Neale O ‘Neil,” whispered Agnes. “She’ll never let you rest.”
But the boy only grinned at her. Tess came back. Ruth brought the hats of Agnes and herself and their outer wraps. Everything that they could possibly need for the day’s outing was gathered together and taken out to the big, shiny, seven-passenger touring car that stood gloriously in the morning sunshine before the Willow Street door of the old Corner House.
Tom Jonah, the old Newfoundland dog, and the guardian of the premises, evidently desired to accompany the merry party; but Ruth vetoed that, although he might have ridden in the front seat with Neale.