“I am going to miss you so, dear. There won’t be any little girl to cuddle at Uncle Joseph’s.”
Jane followed Alice into her room after breakfast to help pack the shiny new trunk. This was Alice’s last day.
“My, isn’t it grand! It’s got a place for hats and your parasol—and what are these little places for, Alice?” Chicken Little was eagerly investigating.
“Oh, handkerchiefs and ties and gloves. I’m a lucky girl to have all these nice things. Just think—three new dresses! Blue and brown cashmeres for school and a green silk poplin for Sunday best—aren’t these little bows down the front cunning?”
Alice surveyed her treasures with a sigh of satisfaction.
“If they’ll only like me a little at Uncle Joseph’s. I wish I could take you along, Chicken Little Jane, I wouldn’t be lonely if I had you.”
“Will you be dreadfully lonely, Alice?” Chicken Little was getting concerned.
“I am afraid I will, Chicken Little.”
The child pondered the matter for the rest of the morning.
At dinner, she interrupted her father in the midst of a story to ask: