But she never doubted that her own dolls were her very own children even if they had been bought in a store.

So now she asked Cynthia with an indescribably pitying innocence, "Where is her mother ?" Cynthia laughed and looked adoringly at the child with the doll in her arms.

"She has no mother but you," said she.

"She is yours, but once she belonged to a dear little boy, who used to live with me." Ellen stared thoughtfully: she had never seen a little boy with a doll.

The lady seemed to read her thought, for she laughed again.
"This little boy had curls, and he wore dresses like a little girl, and he was just as pretty as a little girl, and he loved to play with dolls like a little girl," said she.
"Where is he ?" asked Ellen, in a small, gentle voice.