Priscilla swallowed. “I know it,” she whispered, with an effort. “But I like them. I wish I could have one.”
When the little girl spoke in that wistful tone her nurse could deny her nothing. “Well, if you ain’t the curiousest child!” she exclaimed. “But if you want one, why, you want one, and that’s all there is about it.”
The next moment the pinkest-cheeked rag-baby of them all was in Priscilla’s arms. She hugged it to her bosom with a loving clutch she had never given to any of her French dolls, and Hannah exchanged a wink with the saleswoman at sight of her satisfaction.
“May I take my dolly into the street? Just to give her the air?” she asked with motherly solicitude for her baby’s health.
Hannah nodded. “Yes, if you’ll be sure not to leave the door-step. Polly, you go with her, like a good child, and don’t let anything happen to her. Now, run along, like dearies, and let me do my shoppin’ in peace.”
“GIVE THAT DOLL BACK THIS MINUTE!”
“I think,” said Priscilla, as she and Polly stood outside the shop-door, “I think I’ll name this baby Polly. Then she’ll be part yours, won’t she? ’Sides, I think the name of Polly is a ’stremely nice name.”
Polly laughed right out with pleasure at the compliment. “If you name her Polly I’ll be her relation, won’t I? And I’ll have to give her things and look after her. Oh, dear me! I wonder what Hannah’ll say?”