There had been nothing
in the house to remind her. Perhaps Angelina Terry had hung up a stocking
for Miranda at 87 Overlook Terrace. But there would be no Miranda to see it
the next morning.
Her cousins teased her for some time, while they undressed, and Mary grew
sulky. She sat in her corner and answered them shortly. But presently the
room was quiet, for the girls slept easily. Then Mary crept into her little
cot with the doll in her arms. She loved Miranda so much that she would
never part with her, no indeed; not even though she now knew where Miranda
belonged. 87 Overlook Terrace! The figures danced before her eyes
maliciously. She wished she could forget them. And the thought of Angelina
Terry kept coming to her. Poor Angelina!
"She ain't 'poor Angelina,'" argued Mary to herself. "She's _rich_
Angelina. Doesn't she live in a big house in the swell part of the city? I
s'pose she has hundreds of dolls, much handsomer than Miranda, and lots of
other toys. I guess she won't miss this one queer old doll. I guess she'd
let me keep it if she knew I hadn't any of my own. I guess it ought to be
my doll. Anyway, I'm going to keep her. I don't believe Angelina loves
Miranda so much as I do."
She laid her cheek against the doll's cold waxen one and presently fell
asleep.
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