Then the great stars lit their lamps, and looked down at her through the fern-fronds, but if they said anything no one heard them—they were too far off!
“Dolly, dear Dolly, where are you?” cried a little voice, and little footsteps came pressing through the tall bracken fern.
But Dolly didn’t answer!
“Dolly! Dolly! Oh! I wish I could find my Dolly!” There were tears in the little voice now, and the footsteps were more hurried. Yet Dolly lay still!
The sobs grew louder and louder, the little feet almost touched Dolly as she lay hidden under the big foxglove; then the little steps went on, and the sobs grew fainter in the distance, and Dolly lay still staring up at the sky!
So the days went by, and the winter came, and the falling leaves drifted over Dolly, and the snow covered her, but she never moved nor shivered—till one day in spring-time a great wind arose, which blew all the dead dry leaves away in little rustling dances—and lo! John the woodman caught sight of Dolly’s pink cheeks and blue eyes still staring up at the sky!
“Why,” he exclaimed, “I do believe there’s little missie’s doll, as she fretted so at losing!”
And he took Dolly home in his pocket!
M. A. Hoyer.