And Miranda stood in shapeless,
kid-bodied ugliness, which stage of evolution the doll of her day had
reached.
But there was something more. Around her neck she wore a ribbon; on the
ribbon was a cardboard medal; and on the medal a childish hand had
scratched the legend,--
_Miranda Terry._
If lost, please return her to her mother,
_Angelina Terry_,
87 Overlook Terrace.
It was such a card as Miss Terry herself had worn in the days when her
mother had first let her and Tom go out on the street without a nurse.
Mary stared hard at the bit of cardboard. 87 Overlook Terrace! Yes, that
was where she had found the doll. She remembered now seeing the name on a
street corner. _Miranda;_ what a pretty name for a doll! _Angelina Terry;_
so that was the name of the little girl who had lost Miranda. Angelina
must be feeling very sorry now. Perhaps she was crying herself to sleep,
for it was growing late.
Her two girl cousins came romping into the bedroom. They had been having a
hilarious evening.
"Hello, Mary!" they cried. "We heard about your great find!"--"Playing with
your old doll, are you? Goin' to hang up her stockin' and see if Santa
Claus will fill it?"--"Huh! Santa Claus won't come to _this_ house, I
guess!"
Mary had almost forgotten that it was Christmas Eve.
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