Lucy repeated the question, wondering what had set her playmate's thoughts a-wool-gathering.
"I'm not going to stay," began Annie.
Lucy's clear eyes met hers inquiringly. To her uneasy conscience they seemed to accuse her and to demand the admission of her fault. Her cheeks grew crimson; and, as a person in a burning building ventures a perilous leap in the hope of escape, so Annie, finding her present position intolerable, stammered out the truth.
"I only came to bring back something. Don't be vexed, will you, at what I'm going to tell you? I took that red silk dress home with me; but here it is, and I'm sorry, Lucy,—indeed I am!"
A variety of expressions flitted across Lucy's face as she listened. Incredulity, surprise, and indignation were depicted there. Annie had stated the case as mildly as possible, but Lucy understood. After the first surprise, however, she began to comprehend dimly that it must have required a good deal of moral courage thus openly to bring back the little dress. She was conscious of a new respect for Annie, who stood there so abashed. For a few moments there was an awkward pause; then she managed to say:
"Oh, that is all right! Of course I should have been vexed if you had not brought it back, because I should have missed it as soon as I opened the box. I was mean about it, anyway. I might have let you take it to try on Clementina. Here, I'll give it to you now, to make up for being stingy."
Annie shook her head, and refused to take the once coveted gift from her companion's outstretched hand.
"Then I'll lend it to you for ever and ever," continued Lucy, impulsively.
"No, I don't want it now," answered Annie. "Good-bye!"
"Will you go to walk with me to-morrow after Sunday-school?" urged
Lucy, as she followed her to the door.