Anne nodded assent.  “Uncle Carey gave her to me.  I make some of her clothes.  Louise makes the frilly ones.  We were getting her school dresses ready.  Uncle Carey said I really truly must go to school this year.  Then yesterday he came home in such a hurry.  Louise thought he was sick.  He never comes home that time of day; and his face was pale and his eyes shiny.  He said he had to go away on business and was going to take me with him.  Louise packed in such a hurry.  And I left my dear Rosy Posy.”  The child’s lip quivered.  “Uncle kept saying, ’We ought to be gone.  We ought to be gone.  Hurry up.  Hurry up.’  And we drove away real fast.  Then we got out and got in another carriage.  It was so hot, with all the curtains down!  I was glad when we came on the boat.  But I do miss Rosy Posy so bad—­and Uncle Carey.”

Miss Drayton spoke quickly in her cheeriest tone.  “Aren’t you glad that Louise is there to take good care of Rosy Posy?  I expect she’ll have a beautiful lot of frilly frocks when you get home.  Some time I must tell you about my pet doll, Lady Ann, and her yellow silk frock.”

“I’d like to hear it now,” said Anne.

“And I’d like to tell you,” smiled back Miss Drayton.  “But I must leave Pat to play ring toss with you while I go to see about my sister.  She isn’t well and I want to persuade her to take a cup of broth.”

CHAPTER IV

Miss Drayton explained her prolonged absence by relating to her sister the story of their little fellow-voyager.  Mrs. Patterson’s languid air gave way to attention and interest.  It was pitiful to think that so near them a deserted child had sobbed away the lonely hours of the long night.  A faint smile came as the lady listened to the tale of Rosy Posy, Anne’s “best little friend” with the “such lovely long yellow curls.”  Then her eyes grew misty again.

“Poor all-alone little one!” she exclaimed.  “With no friend, not even a doll.”  Then at a sudden thought her eyes sparkled.  “Sarah,” she said, “I’ll make her a doll.  And it shall be a darling.  You remember the baby dolls I used to make for church bazaars?”

“What beauties they were!” said her sister.  “Like real babies, instead of just-alike dolls that come wholesale out of shops.  I remember one I bought to send out West in a missionary box.  You had given it the dearest crooked little smile.  I wanted to keep it and cuddle it myself.  But, Emily dear, it is too great an undertaking for you to make a doll now.  You’ll overtax your strength.  And, besides, you’ve no materials.  We’ll buy a doll in Paris for this little girl.”

“Paris!  With all these lonesome days between!” objected Mrs. Patterson.  “Indeed, it will not hurt me, Sarah.  Why, I feel better already.  And you’ll help me.  If you’ll get out your work-basket, I’ll rummage in this trunk for what I need.”

A muslin skirt was selected as material for the doll’s body and her underwear, and a dainty dressing-sacque was chosen to make her frock.  Mrs. Patterson pencilled an outline on the cloth, then rubbed out, redrew, changed, and corrected the lines, with painstaking care.  At last she threw back her head and looked at her work through narrowed eyelids.