It wouldn't be the same one that
she had loved so, and she refused to have a new one until later, when
her grief would be less fresh.
It was in vain that Blanche told her that a new doll would be as dear as
the old one, the little girl refused to play, and her cherub face looked
very sad, the dimples failing to show, because the smiles would not
appear.
"That bad boy, Gyp, has took it," she wailed.
"Oh, Dollie, he might take a kite, or a ball from Harry, and Rob, but he
wouldn't want a doll! Just think! What would HE do with a doll?"
"He's got little sisters, you said he had," Dollie replied, "p'raps he
stole it for them. I wouldn't care if he'd just took my old one, but he
was a bad boy to take my best one. I'll tell him so! You'll see!"
It was a baby's threat, and Blanche did not dream that her wee sister
would do anything of the sort.
Dollie had a good memory, however, and Gyp sometimes passed the house.
She was as determined as any older child might have been, to give Gyp
the scolding that she thought he deserved.
Oddly enough, he passed the house the next morning.
His restless black eyes were looking furtively about as if in search of
something that he might snatch. Little Dollie, for the moment, had
forgotten the lost doll.
With a long, flowering branch in her hand, she was walking up and down
the driveway, looking more like a doll than anything else, in her dainty
frock, her white socks, and bronze slippers.
"Sing a song o' sixpence, A pocket full of rye,--"
"Oh, YOU, YOU--wait for me!" In her wrath, the wee girl had forgotten
his name.
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