" At which the
unhappy woman, with a great effort to be calm, would sigh: "Let us say
the Rosary again." Joan, whose face was stained with tears, and her
eyes swollen and red from weeping, responded as best she could between
her sobs.
Poor Joan learned in those hours what a terrible punishment is that of
remorse. Amid all her thoughts of Tilderee one scene was ever before
her: the picture of a rosy culprit, with tangled curls and beseeching
eyes, grieved at the mischief she had done, and stammering, "I'm so
sorry, Joan!" And then herself, as she snatched up the doll and
answered harshly: "You naughty girl! I wish you didn't live here! I
wish I hadn't any little sister at all!" Well, her wish had come true:
Tilderee was gone. Perhaps she would never live in the log house
again. There was no "little plague" to vex or bother Joan now. The
lighter chores, which were her part of the housework, could be finished
twice as soon, and afterward she would have plenty of time to do as she
liked: to play with and sew for Angelina, for instance. Angelina!--how
she hated the very name! She never wanted even to see the doll again.
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