nd led her to the window.

"Now--look!" he commanded dramatically.

Bessie looked and Tommy was rewarded. She flushed pinkly with delight
and clasped her hands in ecstasy.

"Oh, Tommy, isn't she perfectly beautiful?" she breathed. "Oh, she's
the very loveliest dolly I ever saw. Oh, Tommy!"

"I thought you'd like her," said Tommy exultantly. "Don't you wish you
had a doll like that of your very own, Bessie?"

Bessie looked almost rebuking, as if Tommy had asked her if she
wouldn't like a golden crown or a queen's palace.

"Of course I could never have a dolly like that," she said. "She must
cost an awful lot. But it's enough just to look at her. Tommy, will
you bring me up here every day just to look at her?"

"'Course," said Tommy.

Bessie talked about the blue-silk doll all the way home and dreamed of
her every night. "I'm going to call her Roselle Geraldine," she said.
After that she went up to see Roselle Geraldine every day, gazing at
her for long moments in silent rapture. Tommy almost grew jealous of
her; he thought Bessie liked the doll better than she did him.

"But it don't matter a bit if she does," he thought loyally, crushing
down the jealousy. "If she likes to like it better than me, it's all
right."

Sometimes, though, Tommy felt uneasy. It was plain to be seen that
Bessie had set her heart on that doll. And what would she do when the
doll was sold, as would probably happen soon? Tommy thought Bessie
would feel awful sad, and he would be responsible for it.

What Tommy feared came to pass. One afternoon, when they went up to
Mr. Blacklock's store, the doll was not in the window.

"Oh," cried Bessie, bursting into tears, "she's gone--Roselle
Geraldine is gone."

"Perhaps she isn't sold," said Tommy comfortingly. "Maybe they only
took her out of the window 'cause the blue silk would fade. I'll go in
and ask."

A minute later Tommy came out looking sober.

"Yes, she's sold, Bessie," he said. "Mr. Blacklock sold her to a lady
yesterday. Don't cry, Bessie--maybe they'll put another in the window
'fore long."

"It won't be mine," sobbed Bessie. "It won't be Roselle Geraldine. It
won't have a blue silk hat and such cunning brown eyes."

Bessie cried quietly all the way home, and Tommy could not comfort
her. He wished he had never shown her the doll in the window.

From that day Bessie drooped, and Tommy watched her in agony. She grew
paler and thinner. She was too tired to go out walking, a