A doll
had opportunely lost her wig, and that always meant a good deal of
excitement for the wigless one, for she was at once put to bed, and
given medicine through the opening on top of the head, or made into a
boy doll.

This last happened now; poor cracked and dead Billy Boy's wig was
jauntily glued on the wigless head, and the late Janet became Lord
Jimmy, and was in the process of being wedded to Arabella, the walking,
talking doll from Paris.

They were propped up in the doll house, and Beth was marrying them.

"Lord Jimmy," she said, "wilt thou marry Arabella and nobody else and
be her quilt in time of trouble--?"

"A quilt!" said Ethelwyn. "What's that?"

"A comfort then," said Beth with dignity, "or something like that.
Anyway I wish you wouldn't talk in the middle of the wedding--and give
her clothes, and things to eat, eh? Make him nod 'yes,' sister." So
Ethelwyn, reaching out an energetic hand, clutched the bridegroom by the
waist and made him bow so low, that his freshly-glued wig came off.

"O, for goodness sake, sister," said Beth, in an exasperated tone, "I
never knew any one that could upset things like you--"

But their mother was heard calling them, in a way that meant something
nice, so the poor bald-headed bridegroom and his wig were left at the
feet of the haughty Arabella, who stared rigidly at the landscape
outside, and tried not to see him.

"We are going to drive out to Grandmother Van Stark's to spend the day,
and perhaps a little longer," said mother.

"Oh won't that be the nicest thing!" they cried in a breath. "Who can go
on the pony?"

"Ethelwyn may ride out, and Beth back," said mother.

"I've always been so thankful to think you weren't born a _no_ and
_don't_ mother," said Ethelwyn, hugging her. "Are we going right away?"

"Right away."

Sure enough there was Joe leading Ninkum, their own pony. Mother and
Beth were to go in the phaeton.

All the way out they played games with the trees and flowers. Ethelwyn
rode alongside the phaeton.

They counted the spots they passed that were purple with thistles, and
they were many. Others were pink and white with clover and daisies.
Their mother told them the story of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, when
they drove down the lane bordered with golden Spanish needles.

But they enjoyed the missing word game the most, because it was new.

"It's your turn to make up a game, mother," said Beth.

"I will give you lines that rhyme