“Have you a doll?” asked Menie.
“No: I have a kitten, though.”
“Ah! you must come and play with my doll. She is a perfect beauty, and her name is Flora Macdonald.”
Menie’s doll had become much more valuable in her estimation since she had created such a sensation among the little Merleville girls.
“Will you come? Mr Snow,” she said, climbing upon the front seat which Norman shared with the driver, “won’t you let your little girl come and see my doll?”
“Well, yes; I guess so. If she’s half as pretty as you are, she is well worth seeing.”
Menie was down again in a minute.
“Yes, you may come, he says. And bring your kitten, and we’ll play all day. Graeme lets us, and doesna send us to bed. Will you like to come?”
“Yes,” said the child, quickly, but as gravely as ever.
They stopped at the little brown house at last, with a shout that brought their father and Janet out to see. All sprang lightly down. Little Emily stayed alone in the sleigh.