Davie forgot his awe, to burst out, “Was that your name?”
“Yes, dear,” said Miss Parrott, very much pleased that he had found his tongue. “I was named for my grandmother.”
“Oh,” said David.
“And Sarah was my sister’s name; she was named for our mother.”
“Oh,” said David again.
“Well, we ran after the big box as it was carried into the sitting-room, and Mother had one of the maids cut the heavy cord and then Sister and I were each to lift one end of the cover and take it off. You can’t imagine, children, what that moment, so long waited for, was to us!”
Polly and Davie each side of Miss Parrott, the big rag doll on her lap, didn’t dare to breathe, so afraid they should miss something of this great moment.
“We lifted the tissue paper with trembling fingers, and there lay this doll,” Miss Parrott lifted it, “and we had watched every day for a pink or a blue satin one!”
Polly broke the silence first. “Oh, I think this one was the nicest to play with.”
“So it was, child, but we were silly little girls, and we had set our hearts on quite another kind of doll. Well, what do you think we did? I am quite ashamed to tell you, but you shall have the whole story. We threw ourselves down on the floor, our arms around each other, and declared we didn’t want that doll.”