"Well, I hate the boy," said Irene. "He was so rude when we came off the lake, and he whistled in such a defiant way. He isn't one bit a gentleman. Little Agnes told me that he was going to be a sort of tradesman. We oughtn't to have those people coming to the house. You shouldn't have insisted on my inviting them; you really shouldn't, Rosamund."
"I thought you were quite above that sort of thing," said Rosamund in a lofty tone. "But never mind. Do what you wish; only remember that both the boy and girl are your guests, and that I am going away next week."
Irene suddenly felt that Rosamund, much as she adored her, was a little too dictatorial that evening. She had expected great praise for her conduct, instead of which she had been blamed. She ran out into the cool night air, notwithstanding the expostulations of her mother, and came in late, feeling fagged and wearied. She did not invite Rosamund, as was her custom, to come to her bedroom; but she went there alone, locking the outer door, and then softly opening the door between herself and the new treasure she had found. Yes, little Agnes was a treasure. She was something more precious than gold. She was like a doll of the most beautiful order.
Now, Irene had always despised dolls; but this living doll, with the pink cheeks, and the black eyelashes, and the soft hair, and the sweet little face, was altogether a different matter. The little one stirred in her sleep and breathed a name softly. Irene bent to listen—the name was her own.
"Irene darling!" murmured little Agnes.
"Oh, she is a pet! I am so glad she has come! I'd almost die for her!" thought the girl.
She went back to her own room after gazing once again at the sweet little face. That night, for the first time for years, Irene deliberately dropped on her knees and uttered a prayer full of thankfulness to God. "I thank Thee, great good God, for having given me a darling little girl to protect and love. Please don't allow Frosty to be jealous, and please let her stay with me, for she is just the person to quiet that horrid living thing inside me," whispered the child. Then she got into bed and fell fast asleep.
She was awakened by cries before morning dawned. In a moment she started up, sprang out of bed, and rushed into the next room. Little Agnes was sitting up in her bed, puzzled and terrified.
"Where am I? Oh, what has happened?"
"Are you frightened, darling?" said Irene. "Are you really frightened? Would you like to come into my bed? Have you had a bad dream?"