ere it made a long ugly blot.

Rose had been quick to seize the bottle before it rolled to the floor,
and was now using a big dusting cloth to wipe up the ink. Her attention
was so taken with this that she did not really know what was happening,
when the sound of Millicent crying made her look quickly around.

"What is the matter?" she asked, turning toward the little girls.

Anne, with her hands over her face, was evidently crying; and Millicent,
grasping the wooden doll with both hands, was making as much noise as
she possibly could in a series of half-angry little sobs.

"Millicent, stop this minute," said Rose, going toward them, "and you,
too, Anne, and tell me what you are crying about," and, quite forgetting
the inky cloth in her hand, Rose took hold of Anne's arm.

Anne looked up, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"There, there," said Rose, wiping Anne's face, and leaving it almost
blacker than the cloth. "Oh, what have I done!" exclaimed Rose, while
Millicent's sobs ceased for a moment to be followed by a shriek of
terror to see Anne's face turn black so suddenly. "Stop, Millicent,"
said Rose. "Come down-stairs, Anne, and I'll wash the ink off. And tell
me what the matter is."

"Rose! Rose!" called Mrs. Freeman from the floor below. "What is the
matter?"

"I've got ink on Anne's face and Millicent is frightened," Rose called
back, drawing Anne toward the stairs. Millicent stopped crying, and
finding that no one took the wooden doll from her, trotted across the
attic and introduced the newcomer as "Lady Washington" to the other
dolls, sat down on the floor beside them and began to play happily.

Anne followed Rose down the stairs and into the sink-room, where Rose
began to scour her face vigorously.

"I don't mean to hurt you, Anne," she said laughingly, "and I'm awfully
sorry I wiped your face with that dreadful inky cloth, but I have to rub
hard to get it off."

"It's my--fault," Anne managed to say. "I was crying."

"There isn't any blame in crying, if you have anything to cry about,"
said Rose.

"Millicent wanted my doll," said Anne.

Rose did not speak for a moment. She was very fond of Anne Nelson, and
thought her a very generous and thoughtful child, and could not
understand why she should cry because little Millicent had taken what
Rose called to herself "an old wooden doll."

"Well," she said, "Millicent won't hurt your doll."

"But she wants to keep it," said Anne, as Rose gave h