“Why, it is my old doll,” he cried, with a great laugh of wonder and incredulity. “Yes, it is my old doll! How in the world did you come by my doll, Miss Brewster? Account for yourself. Are you a child kidnapper?”
Ellen, who had risen and come forward, stood before him, absolutely still, and very pale.
“Yes, it is my doll,” said Lloyd, with another laugh. “I will tell you how I know. Of course I can tell her face. Dolls look a good deal alike, I suppose, but I tell you I loved this doll, and I remember her face, and that little cast in her left eye, and that beautiful, serene smile; but there's something besides. Once I burned her head with the red-hot end of the poker to see if she would wake up. I always had a notion when I was a child that it was only a question of violence to make her wake up and demonstrate some existence besides that eternal grin. So I burned her, but it made no difference; but here is the mark now—see.”
Ellen saw. She had often kissed it, but she made no reply. She was occupied with considerations of the consequences.
“How did you come by her, if you don't mind telling?” said the young man again. “It is the most curious thing for me to find my old doll sitting here. Of course Aunt Cynthia gave her to you, but I didn't know that she was acquainted with you. I suppose she saw a pretty little girl getting around without a doll after I had gone, and sent her, but—”
Suddenly between the young man's face and the girl's flashed a look of intelligence. Suddenly Robert remembered all that he had heard of Ellen's childish escapade. He knew. He looked from her to the doll, and back again. “Good Lord!” he said. Then he set the doll down in her little chair all of a heap, and caught Ellen's hand, and shook it.
“You are a trump, that is what you are,” he said; “a trump. So she—” He shook his head, and looked at Ellen, dazedly. She did not say a word, but looked at him with her lips closed tightly.
“It is better for you not to tell me anything,” he said; “I don't want to know. I don't understand, and I never want to, how it all happened, but I do understand that you are a trump. How old were you?” Robert's voice took on a tone of tenderness.
“Eight,” replied Ellen, faintly.
“Only a baby,” said the young man, “and you never told! I would like to know where there is another baby who would do such a thing.” He caught her hand and shook it again. “She was like a mother to me,” he said, in a husky voice. “I think a good deal of her. I thank you.”