ght to have been in a
picture.

But what had me button-eyed was the wall decorations. If I hadn't been
ridin' on the sprinker for so long I'd thought it was time for me to
hunt a D. T. institute right then. First off I couldn't make 'em out at
all; but after the shock wore away I see they were dolls, dozens of 'em,
hangin' all over the walls in rows and clusters, like hams in a pork
shop. And say, that was the wooziest collection ever bunched together!
They wa'n't ordinary Christmas-tree dolls, the store kind. Every last
one of 'em was home-made, white cotton heads, with hand-painted faces.
Course, I tumbled. This was some of that half-batty Aunt 'Melie's work.
This was what she'd put in her time on. And she sure had produced.

For face paintin' it was well done, I guess, only she must have been
shut up so long away from folks that she'd sort of forgot just how they
looked. Some of the heads had sunbonnets on, and some nightcaps; but
they were all the same shape, like a hardshell clam, flat side to. The
eyes were painted about twice life-size--some rolled up, some canted
down, some squintin' sideways, and a lot was just cross-eye. There was
green eyes, yellow eyes, pink eyes, and the regular kinds. They gave me
the creeps.

When I turns around, the Bishop stands there with his mouth open. "Why,"
says he--"why, professor!" That was as far as he could get. He gasps
once or twice and gets out something that sounds like "Remarkable, truly
remarkable!"

"That's the word," says I. "I'll bet there ain't another lot like this
in the country."

"I--I hope not," says he. "No offence meant, though. Do you--er--do this
sort of thing yourself?"

Well, I had to loosen up then. I told him about Aunt 'Melie, and how I'd
bought the place unsight and unseen. And when he finds this was my first
view of the parlor it gets him in the short ribs. He has a funny fit.
Every time he takes a look at them dolls he has another spasm. I gets
him out on the porch again, and he sits there slappin' his knees and
waggin' his head and wipin' his eyes.

By-'m'-by the Bishop calms down and says I've done him more good than a
trip to Europe. "You must let me bring Major Binger over," says he. "I
want him to see those dolls. You two are bound to be great cronies."

"I've got my doubts about that," says I. "But don't you go to mixin' up
in this affair, Bishop. I don't want to lug you in for any trouble with
any of your old friends."

You couldn't