A bellow of laughter resounded through the room. The paper being torn
roughly away, poor Miranda stood revealed in all her faded beauty. The
pallid waxen face, straggling hair, and old-fashioned dress presented a
sorry sight to the greedy eyes which had expected to find something
exchangeable for drink. A sorry sight she was to Mary, who had hoped for
something so much lovelier. A flush of disappointment came into her cheek,
and tears to her eyes.

"Here, take your old doll," said her uncle roughly, thrusting it into her
arms. "Take your old doll and get away with her. If that's the best you can
find you'd better _steal_ something next time."

Steal something! Had she not in fact stolen it? Mary knew very well that
she had, and she flushed pinker yet to think what a fool she had made of
herself for nothing. She took the despised doll and retreated into the
other room, followed by a chorus of jeers and comments. She banged the door
behind her and sat down with poor Miranda on her knees, crying as if her
heart would break. She had so longed for a beautiful doll! It did seem too
cruel that when she found one it should turn out to be so ugly. She seized
poor Miranda and shook her fiercely.

"You horrid old thing!" she said. "Ain't you ashamed to fool me so? Ain't
you ashamed to make me think you was a lovely doll with pretty clo'es and
_white kid shoes?_ Ain't you?"

She shook Miranda again until her eyeballs rattled in her head. The doll
fell to the floor and lay there with closed eyes. Her face was pallid and
ghastly. Her bonnet had fallen off, and her hair stuck out wildly in every
direction. Her legs were doubled under her in the most helpless fashion.