Bella was the best-beloved of a somewhat large family of dolls,—a pretty Parian creature, with blue eyes and fair hair. I had myself lately assisted in making a trunk of clothes for Bella; and I grudged sorely all my wasted labor, if she had come to an untimely end.
I looked at the dear remains, stretched out sadly upon a chair. Bella was evidently very dead indeed. Her pretty neck was broken, her fair, foolish head lay quite severed from her silken-clad body. Suddenly there flashed into my mind the thought of the dolls’ hospital. I spoke cheerfully.
“Brown-Eyes,” I said, “I think that Bella may recover. I am pretty sure that her collar-bone is broken; but I have heard of people who got well after breaking their collar-bones.”
The child looked up, her eyes shining through tears, and said, with that air of grave, old-fashioned propriety which was one of the most amusing things about her,—
“It is a very serious accident. Do you think Bella could recover?”
“I hope she may; and I shall at once take her to the hospital.”
“The hospital!” cried Mistress Brown-Eyes; “but that is where Mary Ann went when she had a fever. She was gone six weeks. Will my Bella be gone six weeks?”
“I think not so long as one week, if she can be cured at all.”