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Page 23
[Illustration: MARY RETURNS THE DOLL]
Miss Terry did not take the doll.
"I am Angelina," she said. "The doll was mine."
"You! Angelina!" the child's face was full of bewilderment. Mechanically
she drew Miranda to her and clasped her close.
"Yes, I am Angelina, and that was my doll Miranda," said Miss Terry gently.
"Thank you for returning her. But Mary,--your name is Mary?" The child
nodded.--"Suppose I wanted you to keep her for me, what would you say?"
Mary's eyes still dwelt upon Miss Terry with a puzzled look. This
gray-haired Angelina was so different from the one she had pictured. She
did not answer the question. Miss Terry drew the child to a chair beside
her.
"Tell me all about yourself, Mary," she said.
After some coaxing and prompting from what they already guessed, Mary told
the story of her sad little life.
She was an orphan recently left to the care of her uncle and aunt, who had
received her grudgingly. They were her sole relatives; and the shame of
their degraded lives was plain through the outlines of the vague picture
which Mary sketched of them.
"You do not love them, Mary?" asked Miss Terry kindly.
"No," answered the child. "They always speak crossly to me. When they have
been drinking they beat me."
Tom rose from the table with a muttered word and began to pace the floor.
His blue eyes were full of tears.
"Mary," said Miss Terry, "will the people at home be worried if you do not
come back to dinner?"
Mary shook her head wonderingly. "No," she said. "They will not care. I am
often away on holidays. I go to the Museums."
"Then I want you to stay with us to-day," said Miss Terry. "We are going
to have a Christmas celebration, and we need you for a guest. Will you
stay, you and Miranda?"
Mary looked down at the doll in her arms, and up at the two kind faces bent
toward her. "Yes," she said impulsively, "I will stay. How good you are! I
don't want to go home."
"Don't go home!" burst out Tom. "Stay with us always and be our little
girl."
Mary looked from one to the other, half frightened at the new idea. Miss
Terry bent and pecked at her cheek, with a thrill at the new sensation.
"Yes, we mean it," she said, and her voice was almost sweet. "We believe
that the Christmas Angel has brought you to us, Mary. You have the
Christmas name. But you seem to us like the little girl we both knew best,
little Angelina with blue eyes and yellow hair, who was Miranda's mother.
Will you stay with us, Mary Angelina? Would you like to stay?"
Mary looked up with a wistful smile. "You are so good!" she said again. "I
wish I could stay. But Uncle and Aunt are so--I am afraid of what they
might do to us all. If they thought you wanted me, they would not let me
go."
"I will fix Uncle and Aunt," said Tom, going for his coat. "Leave them to
me. I know an argument that settles uncles and aunts of that sort. You need
not go back to their house, I promise you, Mary, my dear."
Mary gave a great sigh of relief. "Oh, I am so glad!" she said. "It was
such a wicked house. And here it is so good!"
"Good!" Miss Terry echoed the word with a sigh. "Come with me, Mary," she
said.
She led her little guest through the hall to the library, where a great
fire was blazing, with sundry mysterious packages in white paper piled on
the table beside it. But Miss Terry did not stop at the fire-place. She
drew Mary to the window which looked out on the sidewalk. Above the lower
sash Mary saw the remains of a burned-out Christmas candle; and over it
hung a pink papier-m�ch� Angel stretching out open arms towards her.
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