She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers.
“They are real, too. It’s all real!” she cried. “I am NOT—I am NOT dreaming!”
She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the top. Something was written on the flyleaf—just a few words, and they were these:
“To the little girl in the attic. From a friend.”
When she saw that—wasn’t it a strange thing for her to do— she put
She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers.
“They are real, too. It’s all real!” she cried. “I am NOT—I am NOT dreaming!”
She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the top. Something was written on the flyleaf—just a few words, and they were these:
“To the little girl in the attic. From a friend.”
When she saw that—wasn’t it a strange thing for her to do— she put
