"What are you doing, honey?" called Rosemary, as Shirley passed the door again on her way down stairs.
"Playing with Jennie," was the wholly satisfactory answer.
"I think she plays better by herself than with Sarah," announced Aunt Trudy. "Sarah is so apt to lead her into mischief. Would you rather have a hem-stitched hem or ruffles, Rosemary?"
Back in the office, Shirley wasted no time in planning what to do. She knew exactly how to proceed. Jennie was placed on the desk and Shirley climbed into the swivel chair and grasped the scalpel. The "operation" was to be performed on Jennie's arm, she, as a celluloid doll, possessing an odd ridge in her anatomy that had always puzzled Shirley. What made the ridge and what the inside of Jennie looked like, were two questions that young doctor was determined to have settled.
Jennie proved unexpectedly difficult to cut. Shirley stuck out her tongue in her anxiety and breathed hard as she tried to drive the scalpel in. It slipped suddenly, the chair tilted and the curved shining blade cut a cruel gash in the little hand holding it so tightly.
Pain, fright and a guilty conscience were blended in Shirley's scream. Rosemary came rushing down, followed by Aunt Trudy who added her cries to the child's when she saw her doubled up on the floor, rocking back and forth and calling for Rosemary.
"Are you hurt, darling? What's the matter? Tell Auntie," begged Aunt Trudy bending over the little girl.
"I cut my hand!" Shirley straightened up and Aunt Trudy caught a glimpse of the bleeding hand and the front of the child's blouse all stained where she had held it.
The sight of blood always unnerved Aunt Trudy. She shrieked now and covered her eyes with her hands.
"I can't look at it—I'll faint, I know I shall!" she cried. "Shirley will bleed to death, Rosemary. She has an awful cut. What shall we do! What shall we do!"