“I don’t want to go,” she said, and her pretty mouth quivered. Was she always to be sent away?—always to have to go when she did not want to go?
Betty smiled into the worried little face. “Oh! we’ll see each other every day,” she comforted; “and besides, this is the only way you can truly adopt a mother and play fair. It will be another dear place for Bobilink to go for a visit, and best of all—there’s a perfectly splendid man in the big house—for a—for—a father!”
Real fear came into Ann’s eyes at this—fear that lay at the root of all her trouble.
“No!” she cried. “I can’t play father!”
Lynda drew her to her closely. “Ann, little Ann, don’t say that!” she pleaded passionately: “I’ll help you, and together we’ll make it come true. We must, we must!”
Her vehemence stilled the child. She put her hands on either side of Lynda’s face and timidly faltered: “I’ll—I’ll try.”
“Thank you, dear. And now I want to tell you something else—we’re going to have a Christmas tree.”
This meant nothing to the little hill-child, so she only stared.
“And you must come and help.”
“You have something to teach her, Lyn,” Betty broke in. There were tears in her eyes. “Just think of a baby-thing like that not knowing the thrills of Christmas.”