“It was splendid,” she said to the little lady when they’d gotten home. “I’d like to kiss you for all these lovely times.”
“I’m so glad, dear motherless child,” said the little lady with tears in her eyes.
“But I’m not motherless—” began Tiny.
“There, there, we’ll forget about that,” interrupted her new mother.
That night she tucked Tiny into bed quite early.
I must tell you about Tiny’s bedroom. All the woodwork and furniture were white. On the floor was a rose-colored carpet, with a border of pink and white roses and green leaves. At the windows were white curtains with pink roses along each edge. On the little white bureau was a tiny set of golden brushes and combs and boxes and bottles, and in a gold vase on the dressing-table was a very beautiful bouquet of tiny real roses.
Everything was so sweet that Tiny used up nearly every word of praise she knew, and she fell asleep before the little lady had finished tucking her in bed.
It must have been near midnight when Tiny was awakened very suddenly by an awful pain.
She cried out loudly for her mother.
The little lady hastened to her room.