ut in life, when you're poor, it's each fellow for
himself and there's not any time for your grand sounding self-sacrifice.
I wanted it to buy a violin. That thing I've got's nothing but a cheap
old fiddle. And I can play--I _know_ I can play, or could if I could get
a good violin. I took lessons from an old Belgian who lived above us and
I played once for Martini at the theatre and he said--but what's the use
of caring? What's the use of _thinking_ about it? All a girl like me can
do is just want big things!"

"Oh, Beryl," breathed Robin, a tremble on her lips. She wanted very much
to make Beryl understand that she was not the "lucky thing" Beryl
thought her; that she knew, too, what it was to want something and not
to have it, though perhaps she had not known it as cruelly as Beryl had,
for Jimmie had always contrived to cover their bleak moments with a
makeshift contentment. "Oh, Beryl, honestly I know just how you feel. I
wish I could help you. Maybe I can. My allowance seems awfully big and I
can't ever spend it all--"

"Well, I'm not a beggar and I'm not hinting for your money," flared
Beryl.

"I didn't mean--" Robin began, then faltered. Beryl had spoken with such
real anger that she was frightened. Beryl, turning back to her packing,
gathered up an armful of clothing on top of which lay an oblong bundle.
Its wrappings were old and loose so that as Beryl flounced her burden
toward the suitcase, the content of the package slipped out and down to
the floor. Robin stared in amazement for there lay a doll in faded satin
finery.

With a short, ashamed laugh, Beryl picked it up. "_That_ old thing," she
exclaimed, in half-apology.

Robin caught her arm. "Wait--oh, wait--let me see it!"

"It's just an old doll I've kept."

"It--it looks like my Cynthia. Oh, _please_ just let me look at it. It's
like a doll--I lost, once, ever so long ago." She examined the pretty
clothing.

Now Beryl stared at Robin as though to find in her face a likeness to
the little girl who had deserted her doll.

"Lost? And I found it in Sheridan Square. A little girl went off and
left it. I waited awhile, then I took the doll home."

"Oh, how funny! How _funny_! It was me, Beryl. I'd been playing and Mr.
Tony called to me to hurry and I forgot--and you found it. Why, I cried
myself to sleep night after night thinking poor Cynthia was unhappy
somewhere."

"And I called her my orphan doll and loved her because I thought she
missed her