"Do you think Madame Laurin will go?" asked the lady.
"I don't know. I am going to offer her my little black doll. If she will not come for that, there is nothing else I can do."
A flash of interest lighted up the lady's brown eyes. She bent forward.
"Is it your doll you have in that box? Will you let me see it?"
Little Joyce nodded. Mutely she opened the box and took out the black doll. The lady gave an exclamation of amazed delight and almost snatched it from Little Joyce. It was a very peculiar little doll indeed, carved out of some black polished wood.
"Child, where in the world did you get this?" she cried.
"Father got it out of a grave in Egypt," said Little Joyce. "It was buried with the mummy of a little girl who lived four thousand years ago, Uncle Roderick says. She must have loved her doll very much to have had it buried with her, mustn't she? But she could not have loved it any more than I do."
"And yet you are going to give it away?" said the lady, looking at her keenly.
"For Denise's sake," explained Little Joyce. "I would do anything for Denise because I love her and she loves me. When the only person in the world who loves you is going to die, there is nothing you would not do for her if you could. Denise was so good to me before she took sick. She used to kiss me and play with me and make little cakes for me and tell me beautiful stories."
The lady put the little black doll back in the box. Then she stood up and held out her hand.