Then he took her up gingerly in her fluffy pink robes of an obsolete fashion.

He held her at arm's length, and stared and stared.
Suddenly he parted the flaxen wig and examined a place on the head.
Then he looked at Ellen.
"Why, it is my old doll," he cried, with a great laugh of wonder and incredulity.

"Yes, it is my old doll! How in the world did you come by my doll, Miss Brewster?
Account for yourself.

Are you a child kidnapper ?" Ellen, who had risen and come forward, stood before him, absolutely still, and very pale.
"Yes, it is my doll," said Lloyd, with another laugh.

"I will tell you how I know.