"This is Rock Hardy, girls," said she. "As Dimple is a little lame, I
brought him out here, rather than take her in the house," and so saying,
she left them. There was a deep silence after they had shaken hands; all
looking rather bashful for a few minutes.
Finally Rock took courage to say, "What pretty dolls."
This was encouraging; Florence and Dimple exchanged pleased glances.
"Do you think they are pretty?" asked Dimple. "I thought boys hated
dolls."
"I don't," said Rock. "I played with them myself for a long time, and I
have one now, but I don't play with it because I like to read better."
"He _is_ a nice boy," thought the girls.
"How funny," said Florence. "How came you to play with dolls?"
"Why, you see, I haven't any brothers and sisters. When I was a little
fellow I used to get so lonely, that my mother dressed a boy doll for
me, and I talked to it and pretended it was another boy."
"I haven't any brothers, or sisters either," said Dimple, "but Florence
has. I have Bubbles, though. Everybody can't have a Bubbles; she is next
best to a sister, or a cousin."
"Who is Bubbles?" asked Rock.
"She is the little colored girl you saw when you came out of the house;
she has lived here ever since I was a baby; she is a year older than I
am; her mother ran off and left her, and she is real nice to play with.
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