“Mamma, don't you think Pokey would like some of my shells? Rose gave Phebe some of her nice things, and it was very good of her. Can I?”
“Who is Pokey?” asked Rose, popping up her head, attracted by the odd name.
“My dolly; do you want to see her?” asked Jamie, who had been much impressed by the tale of adoption he had overheard.
“Yes; I'm fond of dollies, only don't tell the boys, or they will laugh at me.”
“They don't laugh at me, and they play with my dolly a great deal; but she likes me best”; and Jamie ran away to produce his pet.
“I brought my old doll, but I keep her hidden because I am too big to play with her, and yet I can't bear to throw her away, I'm so fond of her,” said Rose, continuing her confidences in a whisper.
“You can come and play with Jamie's whenever you like, for we believe in dollies up here,” began Aunt Jessie, smiling to herself as if something amused her.
Just then Jamie came back, and Rose understood the smile, for his dolly proved to be a pretty four-year-old little girl, who trotted in as fast as her fat legs would carry her, and making straight for the shells, scrambled up an armful, saying, with a laugh that showed her little white teeth,
“All for Dimmy and me, for Dimmy and me!”
“That's my dolly; isn't she a nice one?” asked Jamie, proudly surveying his pet with his hands behind him and his short legs rather far apart a manly attitude copied from his brothers.