“Oh, I hope not!” exclaimed Anne who had hastened out when she heard Peggy.  She hoped Honey-Sweet was in that bundle—­though she knew it was too small.

“Mommer sent me,” said the saddened Peggy with the downcast eyes, “to ask you ladies, please’m, not to come home to-day.”

“Is Lois worse?” was Miss Dorcas’s anxious question.

“No’m.  The doctor says she’s lots better, but”—­Peggy hesitated—­“he says she mustn’t have no company and I think he says she mustn’t have no company till Monday.  And here’s something for you.”  She thrust into Anne’s hand a newspaper package which being opened revealed a gauze fan spangled with silver, soiled and frayed, but the pride of Peggy’s heart.  “And you won’t come till Monday, ma’am?” she urged.

Miss Dorcas agreed, but Miss Margery, when she heard the tale, shook her head.

“That’s one of Peggy’s tales that I’m going to look into,” she said.  “I have to see a girl in that neighborhood and I’ll go there this afternoon.”

“And you’ll let me go with you?  Please,” pleaded Anne.  “I’m so homesick for Honey-Sweet.  She’s never been away from me before.  You can hand her out the window and let me visit her, if I can’t see Lois.”

It was a raw December day and none of the Callahan children were playing, as usual, in front of the little brown house.  The sewing-machine was rattling away at such furious speed that Miss Margery’s knock at the door was unheard.  The Charity lady hesitated a moment.  “If Lois can stand that rattle-ty-banging, she can stand sight and sound of us.  Let’s go in,” she said and she opened the door.

Anne’s eyes went straight to the mantel-piece.  Honey-Sweet was not there.  Anne looked down at the pallet, where Lois lay asleep.  No Honey-Sweet there.  The child’s questioning, appealing eyes turned to Lois’s mother.

Mrs. Callahan dropped her face in her apron.  “I wouldn’t ‘a’ had it happen for the world!” she sobbed.  “Not for all the world.”

“What is the matter, Mrs. Callahan?” inquired Miss Margery.

“Where’s Honey-Sweet?” asked Anne.

“I wouldn’t ‘a’ had that doll ruint for nothin’,” wailed Mrs. Callahan.

“Honey-Sweet? ruined?” stammered Anne.

“What has happened to Anne’s doll, Mrs. Callahan?  Will you please explain at once?” Miss Margery was at her sternest.

“Peggy done it—­and she’s cried herself ’most sick.  ’Twas yestiddy.  I’d gone to take home some sewin’.  Peg she’s been possessed to show that doll to the Flannagan children.  Bein’ as I was gone and Lois ’sleep, she slipped out.  And while they were all mirationin’ over the doll’s shoes and stockin’s, that low-down Flannagan dog grabbed the doll and made off with it.  And they couldn’t get it away from him—­he tore it to pieces, worritin’ it like ’twas a cat.  He ought to be skinned alive, I say.  It’s low-down to keep such a dog.”

“If Peggy had obeyed—­” began Miss Margery.