"
"Doro, let me in! Let me in!" little Roger was calling at her door, and
before she had a chance to finish dressing, her little brother had his
soft white arms about her neck.
"Now, don't you look. You can't see until I've given you a quart of
kisses, then you have to promise not to cry."
"Cry? What for?" she asked.
"Cross your heart, first," he insisted.
Then she saw that his curls were gone.
"Oh, darling!" she exclaimed, "who did it?"
"Jake, the barber. And daddy said so. He said you should not bother with
tangles any more. Now don't you dare cry. You promised."
The girl took the little boy in her arms. Why did they do it just that
day, when her head ached, and she had so many worries? Those beautiful
curls! How she had loved them!
"Now Doro, you are going to cry, 'cause your eyes look like polly-wogs.
And you must be glad that I'm a man, like Joe, now," and the boy sprang
from her arms, and stood up like a "major" before her.
Then he was a "man," and her baby no longer. It was not the curls so
much, but taking her baby from her, that hurt so.
The loving mother-spirit, that had made Dorothy Dale the girl she was,
seemed to grow stronger now with every tear that clouded her eyes. Yes,
he bad been her baby, and she had loved him with a wonderful love--sent
into her heart, she always thought, by the mother in heaven who watched
over them both.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54