"And I want to see her doll in my own hands."
"My name is Anne Lewis," Anne informed her. "My doll is named Mrs. Emily
Patterson but I call her Honey-Sweet."
"That's a mighty pretty dress," said Lizzie, admiringly.
"I made it, all but the buttonholes," Anne answered proudly. "Martha did
those."
"Do her shoes really, truly come off?" asked Lizzie.
"Yes, they do. And her stockings, too. Look here."
The two girls played happily together with Honey-Sweet until Mrs.
Collins declared that Anne was tired and tucked her away with Lizzie in
a trundle-bed.
"I dunno when I've set up so late," the good woman said to her husband,
as she wound up the clock. "It's near nine o'clock. But one thing I tell
you, Peter Collins, afore I get a mite of sleep--Nobody's going to send
that po' child back to the 'sylum she's runned away from. Tain't no use
for you to say a word."
"Is I said a word?" asked Mr. Collins.
"That po' thing ain't goin' to be drug back to no 'sylum," pursued his
wife. "She shall stay here long as she's a mind to--till her folks come
for her--or till she gets grown--or something. And she shall have all
she wants to eat, sho as my name's Lizabeth Collins.
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