There
were rows and rows of the fantastic creatures behind glass doors on the
shelves, and for Valentine's Day Jean had carved and painted pale doves
which carried in their beaks rosy hearts and golden arrows and whose
wings were outspread--.
There were also on the shelves the white plush elephants which Franz
Stoelle and his friends had made, and which were, too, being sold to
swell the Red Cross fund.
Thus had the Toy Shop come into its own. "I have enough to live on,"
Emily had said, "at least for a while, and I am taking no more chances
for future living, than the men who give up everything to fight."
So enlisted in this cause of mercy as men had enlisted in the cause of
war, Miss Emily led where others followed, and the old patriarch of all
the white elephants, who had been born in a country of blood and iron,
looked down on women working to heal the wounds which his country had
made.
"Let your little Jean look after things," Ulrich repeated.
"Do you mind, my dear?"
"Mind what, Emily--?"
"If I go with Mr. Stoelle--to see his father about the--toys."
"Darling--no;" Jean kissed her.
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