It was raining, and Hazel Tyler had not been allowed to go out all day. As she sat looking out of her window into the narrow Boston street she would have made a pretty picture but for the woe-begone expression on her brown face. Her hair was soft and curly, her eyes dark and clear, her mouth full, but delicate. Usually it was happy in expression; but this afternoon it drooped at the corners. Four o’clock! Two hours more before supper. Oh, this stupid, stupid Saturday! She got up and walked from the tiny parlor, where she had been sitting, into a tiny bedroom where a large baby doll lay on the bed she and her mother shared. Hazel took the doll up, shook it severely, and put it down again. Sh…
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