Anne had sprung up from her seat so quickly that she did not think of her book, pen, or ink. Her arm had given the book a careless push, sending it against and overturning the ink-bottle, and she had dropped the pen on the white paper, where it made a long ugly blot.

Rose had been quick to seize the bottle before it rolled to the floor, and was now using a big dusting cloth to wipe up the ink. Her attention was so taken with this that she did not really know what was happening, when the sound of Millicent crying made her look quickly around.

“What is the matter?” she asked, turning toward the little girls.

Anne, with her hands over her face, was evidently crying; and Millicent, grasping the wooden doll with both hands, was making as much noise as she possibly could in a series of half-angry little sobs.“Millicent, stop this minute,” said Rose, going toward them, “and you, too, Anne, and tell me what you are crying about,” and, quite forgetting the inky cloth in her hand, Rose took hold of Anne’s arm.

Anne looked up, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“There, there,” said Rose, wiping Anne’s face, and leaving it almost blacker than the cloth. “Oh, what have I done!” exclaimed Rose, while Millicent’s sobs ceased for a moment to be followed by a shriek of terror to see Anne’s face turn black so suddenly. “Stop, Millicent,” said Rose. “Come down-stairs, Anne, and I’ll wash the ink off. And tell me what the matter is.”

“Rose! Rose!” called Mrs. Freeman from the floor below. “What is the matter?”

“I’ve got ink on Anne’s face and Millicent is frightened,” Rose called back, drawing Anne toward the stairs. Millicent stopped crying, and finding that no one took the wooden doll from her, trotted across the attic and introduced the newcomer as “Lady Washington” to the other dolls, sat down on the floor beside them and began to play happily.

Anne followed Rose down the stairs and into the sink-room, where Rose began to scour her face vigorously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, Anne,” she said laughingly, “and I’m awfully sorry I wiped your face with that dreadful inky cloth, but I have to rub hard to get it off.”

“It’s my—fault,” Anne managed to say. “I was crying.”

“There isn’t any blame in crying, if you have anything to cry about,” said Rose.

“Millicent wanted my doll,” said Anne.

Rose did not speak for a moment. She was very fond of Anne Nelson, and thought her a very generous and thoughtful child, and could not understand why she should cry because little Millicent had taken what Rose called to herself “an old wooden doll.”

“Well,” she said, “Millicent won’t hurt your doll.”

“But she wants to keep it,” said Anne, as Rose gave her face a vigorous wiping with a rough towel.

Rose made no answer. She thought it rather selfish of Anne, when they had all done so much for her, that she should be unwilling for Millicent to keep the doll.Anne was not a dull child, and Rose’s silence made her realize that she had acted selfishly; still, she could not feel that wanting to keep “Martha Stoddard” was wrong.

“There! You are quite rid of ink now,” said Rose, “and there is an hour before dinner. Do you want to write some more in your book?”

“No,” said Anne. It seemed to her that she should never want to write in the book again. She wished that she and “Martha Stoddard” were safe back with Aunt Martha in Province Town.

“Well, I have some errands to do for mother, so I’ll run along,” said Rose pleasantly, and left Anne alone in the little square room called the “sink-room,” because of two sinks near the one window which overlooked the green yard at the back of the house. There was a door opening into the yard, and Anne looked out feeling more unhappy than she had since the night when Aunt Martha had sent her up-stairs.

Frederick was in the yard. He was setting what looked to Anne like wooden bottles in a straight row at the further end of the square of greensward. Then he ran across to the open door where Anne was standing.

“Want to play bowls?” he asked.

“I don’t know how,” replied Anne.

“I’ll show you; it’s easy,” replied the boy, picking up a big wooden ball and balancing it on one hand. “Come on out and try,” he urged, and Anne stepped out into the yard. “Watch me!” said Frederick.

He stepped back a little, sent a keen glance toward the wooden “bottles,” as if measuring the distance, then holding the ball in one hand and leaning a little sideways, swung it back and forth for a few times and then sent it rolling across the grass. It struck one of the “bottles,” and that in falling sent over two more.

“Oh, I can do that!” exclaimed Anne.

“All right, try. I’ll set up the pins for you,” said Frederick.

Anne thought to herself that it was funny to call those wooden objects “pins.”

“You’d better take a smaller ball,” said Frederick, selecting one from a number lying near the door; and he handed her a ball that Anne thought was about the size of a pint dipper.

Frederick told her how to hold it, how to stand, and how to get the right motion to send it in a straight line.“It’s all in your eye, looking straight, and getting the right swing,” he said.

Anne’s first ball did not go half the proper distance, but she kept on trying, and before dinner time could send a ball nearly as well as Frederick himself.

“It’s fun,” she declared. Her face was flushed with the exercise, and her eyes shining with pleasure. For the moment she had forgotten all about the wooden doll. She and Frederick stopped in the sink-room to wash their hands before going in to dinner.

“Anne plays a good game of bowls,” said Frederick, as they took their places at the table.

“I want to bowl,” exclaimed little Millicent.

“You can, any time you want to,” said Frederick, with his pleasant smile. “I’ll show you after dinner when Rose and Anne are sewing.”

Anne thought to herself that the family all wanted Millicent to do everything she wanted to, and she remembered “Martha,” and wondered what Millicent had done with her beloved doll, but did not dare ask. They were all pleasant and kind to Anne, but she felt as if Rose did not look at her quite as kindly as usual.“I have your blue dimity all basted, my dear,” Mrs. Freeman said to Anne as they left the dining-room, “and you can sit with me and stitch up the seams this afternoon. Rose is to help Caroline with some cooking.”

Anne felt rather glad of this, for she dreaded having Rose say something about the happening of the morning. Mrs. Freeman led the way to her pleasant chamber. A little rush-bottomed rocking-chair stood near one of the windows.

“You may sit in the little chair, Anne; that is where Rose always sits. Now let’s see if this will fit your thimble-finger,” and Mrs. Freeman held out a little shining steel thimble, and fitted it on Anne’s finger. “It’s just right,” she said. “That is a little present for you, Anne; to go with the work-case that Mrs. Pierce gave you.”

“Thank you,” said Anne in a very low voice, looking at the pretty thimble, and wondering if Rose had told her mother about her trying to take the wooden doll from Millicent. “I’ll always keep it,” she said, looking up into the friendly face.

“Here is your work, my dear. Now set your stitches right along the basting, and set them evenly and as small as possible,” and Mrs. Freeman handed Anne the strips of dimity. “But about your thimble, Anne,” she continued. “I shall be better pleased if some time, when you perhaps have a thimble of silver, or have outgrown this one, you will give it to some other child who is learning to sew and has no thimble. We mustn’t plan to keep gifts always, even if we do prize them. Sometimes it is best to pass them on.”

Anne was quite sure that Mrs. Freeman meant that she ought to give the wooden doll to Millicent.

“I gave my coral beads, that Mistress Starkweather gave me, to the Indian girl,” she said, wishing in some way to prove that she was not selfish.

“That was quite right, and I am sure that Mrs. Starkweather will tell you so,” responded Mrs. Freeman.

Anne stitched away, setting her stitches very carefully. But she felt unhappy. She had quite forgotten the pleasant game with Frederick, the book that she was to write for Aunt Martha, and even the delightful fact that she was sewing on the pretty dimity dress, and had a new thimble of shining steel. All that she could think of was that she was sure that Mrs. Freeman and Rose believed her to be a selfish and ungrateful girl. “They think I want to keep everything,” she said to herself. The July day grew very warm. Mrs. Freeman leaned back in her comfortable chair, closed her eyes, and indulged in a little nap. Anne’s dark head began to nod, the pretty dimity slipped from her fingers to the floor, and the new thimble fell off and rolled under the table. Anne had gone fast asleep.

Rose, looking in at the chamber door, smiled to herself, tiptoed gently in and picked up the dimity dress and carried it to her own room, where Millicent was having her afternoon nap on her sister’s bed.

“I’ll stitch up these seams while Anne’s asleep,” thought the kind-hearted girl, “and I’ll tell her that we have a family of fairies living in this house who do things for people. I wonder if Anne ever heard of fairies?”

Mrs. Freeman was the first to wake, and, noticing that Anne’s work had vanished, smiled to herself, quite sure that Rose had taken it. It was some time later when Rose brought it back and laid the thin goods on Anne’s lap.

“Oh,” exclaimed Anne, waking suddenly, “I dreamed of ‘Martha Stoddard,’” and then, noticing the smile fade from Rose’s face, Anne wished that she had not spoken, for she felt that Rose would be sure that she was still blaming little Millicent, who entered the room that very moment holding the wooden doll.

“Where did you get the wooden doll, dear?” Mrs. Freeman asked.

“Anne gave it to me,” replied Millicent.

“O-oh!” Anne exclaimed impulsively, only to be sorry the next moment that she had not kept silent, for Mrs. Freeman looked up questioningly.

“Didn’t you give the doll to Millicent, Anne?” she asked.

Millicent looked as if she wondered why Anne had said “Oh!” and Rose looked at her wonderingly. She could not understand why Anne should not want Millicent to have the doll, and Rose began to think that Anne was indeed selfish and ungrateful, and Anne knew what her friend was thinking, and tried hard not to cry.

“You let me have it, Anne, didn’t you?” Millicent said confidently, and Anne, feeling as if she was parting from her dearest friend, managed to say: “Yes.”Mrs. Freeman’s face brightened. “What is the doll’s name?” she asked.

“I called her ‘Martha Stoddard,’” Anne replied.

“I’ve named her over,” said Millicent. “I’ve named her ‘Anne Rose,’ and I like her best of all my dolls.”

“Have you thanked Anne for giving you her doll?” asked Mrs. Freeman.

“I’m going to give her one of mine back,” declared Millicent. “I’m going to give her Miss Fillosee Follosee.”

Anne wanted to cry out that she didn’t want any other doll, that she wanted her own dear “Martha Stoddard,” but she kept silent.