“Oh, Miss Mary Frances, here comes the expressman carrying a box!” exclaimed Katie a few mornings later.
“Katie, Katie, I’ll go to the door,” cried Mary Frances running down stairs.
“The dear, blessed dolly!” she exclaimed, taking the big package from the expressman. “Nanny, I can hear her calling, almost.”
“We’ll have you out of the dark box soon, Mary Marie, dear,” she whispered through an opening in the wrapping paper.
[Illustration: “Here comes the expressman!”]
“Come, Katie, you help; we’ll carry it where the wrapping will make no trouble, out in the kitchen―and I’ll bring the dolly for you to see, Nanny, dear, soon as she’s unpacked.”
“You cut the string, Miss,” said Katie, “and I’ll pry off the cover.”
[Illustration: Surely Mary Marie was a lovely doll]
“Oh,” exclaimed Mary Frances. “I never, never saw so much tissue paper―thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four sheets―when will I get to her! Oh, there she is! Isn’t she a darling, Katie! And look, here’s her trunk!”
Surely Mary Marie was a lovely doll. She had beautiful long curls tied with pink ribbon; and on her feet were short stockings and slippers,―but her dress was a very plain, simple, “slip” of lawn.
There was a note pinned on Mary Marie’s dress, and a little key. The note read:
_Please read my letter in the tray of Mary Marie’s trunk before unpacking. Here is the key._
“Oh, bring the trunk, please, Katie,” said Mary Frances, “and I’ll carry Mary Marie.”
[Illustration: Closed her eyes contentedly]
“Come, dear,” she said. “Mother wants to take you up to see Grandma and Angie, your sister.”
Mary Marie nestled back in Mary Frances’ arms, and closed her eyes quite contentedly.
“What lovely long eye-lashes,” whispered Mary Frances.
After showing the dolly to Grandma, she unlocked the trunk and took out her mother’s letter.
“Oh, listen! Grandma, listen!” she burst out. “I’ll read it to you!”
_This is Mary Marie. Isn’t she lovely? She is the very doll I’ve been looking for, for my own dear daughter. Father has told you something about Mary Marie, but I want to add some particulars._
_I have nothing to say about the care of her,―for I know my little girl’s careful, neat ways so well. You may be surprised when you unpack her trunk, to find no dresses. Mother is sending you, instead, all kinds of pretty goods which you may make up into dresses and clothes for your new little daughter; and you will find all kinds of laces and ribbons, and buttons, and hooks and eyes―everything Mother could think Mary Frances or Mary Marie could possibly want._
