The doll, in the identical dress in which she had come from Cynthia's so many years ago, sat staring forth with the fixed radiance of her kind, seated stiffly in a tiny rocking-chair, also one of the treasures of Ellen's childhood.

It was a curious feature for the best parlor, but Ellen had insisted upon it.

"She isn't going to be put away up garret because I have outgrown her," said she.

"She's going to sit in the parlor as long as she lives.
Suppose I outgrew you, and put you up in the garret; you wouldn't like it, would you, mother ?" "You are a queer child," Fanny had said, laughing, but she had yielded.
When young Lloyd went close to examine the doll, Ellen's heart stood still.

Suppose he should recognize it?
She tried to tell herself that it was impossible.