Then with a happy smile the excellent young lady took the tape-measure out of her work-basket and measured the slender, round waist of "little miss," as she called the doll.
"Oh, Miss Pike, where did you get that? She's larger than my Princess Aurora Arozarena, and I do believe she's handsomer," cried Flaxie, rushing in from the kitchen, where she had been stoning raisins. "Ethel told me you were dressing an elegant doll, and I couldn't wait another minute to see it."
"Well, I'm glad you think she's handsome," replied Miss Pike, trimming the silk basque carefully. "I think myself she's almost a perfect beauty. I fell in love with her last winter when we were in Washington, and bought her instead of buying myself a new bonnet."
"Why, Miss Pike, how funny! I didn't know young ladies ever wanted dolls. Though why not?" she thought next minute. Could anybody in the whole world be so "grown up" as not to love that exquisite "little miss," who sat up in Miss Pike's lap with the most knowing of smiles, as if she were just going to speak?
"Oh, yes, young ladies love dolls," said Miss Pike, embracing the waxen image tenderly, as she fitted on the pink basque. "But I think I shall give up mine. In fact, I did not intend her for myself. I thought I would buy her and give her to some poor little girl, who never knew what it was to have a good time. And now I'm hurrying to get her dressed in season for Ethel's party. Don't you think she'll look well there? And of course there'll be some poor little girl among your guests, or perhaps a sick little girl; and I'll give her the doll."
"Oh, is that it?" said Flaxie, more surprised than ever. She had not issued invitations yet for her party,—or Ethel's party,—and Miss Pike's words set her to thinking.
Why, there were no poor little girls or any sick ones who ever went to parties! The children she played with were all well and happy. They had pleasant homes—not quite as pleasant as Flaxie's—and plenty to eat and wear. But of course there were other children in town.
"Let me think. Oh, there's Sadie Stockwell. She is a poor girl."
Sadie was not exactly sick, but she was lame. Something dreadful had happened to her when she was a baby, and her head seemed to be driven down between her shoulders, as if she had no neck. She made you think of a flower growing on a leaf-stalk without any stem. Her face was sweet, but sad and pale. She was shorter than most little girls of her age, and walked slowly and painfully with a pair of crutches. Sadie was a good little girl. Why wasn't she ever invited to parties? Flaxie did not know why, only "somehow she never was." She lived ever so far away from the other girls; perhaps that was one reason.
Brother Preston was in the shed with Rover, cracking walnuts for to-morrow's candy. Sister Julia was in the kitchen, finishing the raisins Flaxie had been stoning for cake; and Dora Whalen stood by the ironing-table, ironing the finest and best damask table-cloth for Ethel's party, though the table-cloth might have been as coarse as the pony's red blanket and it would have been all the same to the baby.