"We'll go to the attic now," she said; "my doll house is there."
They climbed the stairs and found the house packed away as it had been for years.
"It may as well be sold and make some child happy," Amy said as she took off its wrappings.
In it was Mandy Ann, the doll the Colonel had bought in Savannah, and Judy, lying on her face in a pile of dust. Amy took her up tenderly, saying, "Do you think anybody will buy her?"
There was a little choke in her voice as she asked the question, for the sight of Judy had stirred memories which often flitted through her weak brain and puzzled her, they were so misty and yet so sweet, like the negro melodies she hummed to herself or sang to an imaginary baby.
"Buy her? I guess they would," Ruby Ann replied, all her blood astir at the thought of the doll house, with Judy and Mandy Ann.
She knew nothing of their antecedents, or how they were connected with Amy's childhood, but she felt intuitively that almost any price put upon them would be paid because they belonged to Mrs. Amy, and particularly because of the dilapidated appearance of Judy, which was sure to rouse the mirth of the spectators. She was very doubtful as to whether she ought to take the dresses without consulting some one besides Amy, to whom she said, "Are you sure you want to give these away? They are different from anything we shall have, and will seem out of place."
For a moment Amy looked at her with a strange glitter in her eyes, as she said, "I hate them! I have been going to burn them more than once. You don't know what they represent to me. I shall burn them, or tear them, if you don't take them."
She made a motion as if she were going to tear one of the lace flounces, when Ruby Ann stopped her by saying, "Don't, Mrs. Amy,—please don't. I'll take the dresses, of course. I only feared you might be giving too much, with the doll house and Mandy Ann and Judy. I want them, sure."
"Yes," Amy said, her mood changing. "Take them all; but don't try to improve them,—Mandy Ann and Judy, I mean."