“Oh, you darling,” cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. “How did you get in here?”
“I saw one of the Monks going past our house, so I ran out and followed him. When he came through the gate I came in, too, but he did not see me.”
“Well,” said Peter, “I don’t see what I can do with you. I can’t let you out, because the gate is locked, and I don’t know what the Monks will say.”
“Oh, I know!” cried the little girl. “I’ll stay out here in the garden. I can sleep every night in one of those beautiful dolls’ cradles over there, and you can bring me something to eat.”
“But the Monks come out every morning to look at the Christmas gifts, and they will see you,” said her brother.
“No, I’ll hide! Oh, Peter, here is a place where there isn’t any doll.”
“Yes, that doll didn’t come up.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do! I’ll stand here where the doll didn’t come up and try to look like one.”
“Perhaps you can do that,” said Peter. He was such a good boy that he didn’t want to do anything wrong, but he couldn’t help being glad to see his dear little sister.
He took food out to her every day, and she helped him in the garden. At night he tucked her into one of the dolls’ cradles with lace pillows and a quilt of rose-colored silk.