"Oh, I'm so unhappy!" sobbed Mary. "I wanted a part and nobody thought of
me."
It then occurred to Dorothy that surely enough no one had thought of Mary,
for from the time when the parts were given out until all the rehearsal
was over Mary had never once either been seen or heard from. She was poor,
not pretty, and not popular, but since she belonged to the auxiliary it
was certainly too bad to have overlooked her.
"Why, I guess no one saw you," faltered Dorothy. "You surely would have
been given a part had auntie seen you."
"Well, the girls looked--so queer at me," sobbed the miserable Mary. "I
felt I had to keep back. But I do know how to play. My own mother was a
real actress."
Dorothy looked down at the child in wonderment. Mary's mother an actress!
No one seemed to know who the child's mother was, as she had always lived
with the Mannings, an elderly couple.
"Well, we must give you a pretty part," promised Dorothy. "And I tell you,
just come over to The Cedars to-morrow and Aunt Winnie--Mrs. White--will
have it all made out for you. There, now, don't cry another tear. Come out
to the tea-room with me and forget all your troubles. No, your eyes are
not red. Come along," and she slipped her arm through that of little
Mary, while she led the child out to the party of gay young folks, there
to entertain her and bring to the queer little girl that sort of enjoyment
which often follows acute grief--a reaction as uncontrollable as had been
the bitterness which had caused the sorrow.
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