Joan had a lovely French doll--the only French doll in the Territory,
and probably the most beautiful one to be found within many hundred
miles. Mrs. Miller, the wife of one of the officers at the Fort,
brought it to her from Chicago; and the little girl regarded it as more
precious than all the family possessions combined. What, then, was her
consternation this morning to see Fudge dash around the corner of the
house dangling the fair Angelina by the blue silk dress, which he held
between his teeth, and Tilderee following in wild pursuit! Joan rushed
out and rescued her treasure; but, alas! it was in a sadly dilapidated
condition. She picked up a stick and started after the dog, but
Tilderee interfered.

"Oh, please, dear Joan!" she cried, holding her back by the apron
strings. "Fudge isn't the most to blame. I took Angelina. I s'pose
he pulled off the wig and broke the arm, but I pushed the eyes in;
didn't mean to, though--was only trying to make them open and shut.
Tilderee's so sorry, Joan!"

The explanation ended with a contrite sob and what Mr. Prentiss called
"a sun shower." But the sight of the child's tears, instead of
appeasing, only irritated Joan the more. Giving her a smart shake, she
said excitedly:

"Tilderee Prentiss, you're a naughty, naughty girl! I wish you didn't
live here. I wish mother had let you go with the lady at the Fort who
wanted to adopt you. I wish I hadn't any little sister at all!"

Tilderee stopped crying, and stood gazing at the angry girl in
astonishment; then, swallowing a queer lump that came in her throat,
she drew herself up with a baby dignity which would have been funny but