in goat and sheep and kid and glove kid, and _skivers_, which is
the name for split leather. I strongly suspected that they were all made
of scraps left from large slippers and shoes, but, though this is
generally the case, some whole skins have to be used because nothing is
ever manufactured for real people boots and shoes and slippers for all
kinds of dolls, high and low, rich and poor; to walk in, to dance in, to
play croquet in, or to stay at home in; to match their costumes, to match
their hair, to match their eyes, to suit them if anything on earth
_could_ suit. And every doll could be sure about her "size," for the
number is stamped on the bottom of the soles; and I must not forget to
say that they have also the "trademark," which is the imprint under the
number; this "trade mark" is a pair of boots smaller than anything you
can think of.

Now I am coming to the original question--"_who makes them?_" They are
made in large quantities during about six months of the year,
accumulating in the summer, ready for the trade, which begins in August,
and drops off after the first of January, and is over with for that
season by March. In those six working months the factory employs about
forty women, and they are mostly invalids or old persons who are not able
to do anything but light work, and who receive only small wages, because
they are not capable of earning much. So they are generally thin, pale
hands and slender fingers which patiently and skillfully fit the
patterns, and sew the seams, and do the even nice stitching, and dainty
ornamentation, which help to make glad the hearts of the many little
girls all over the country, who have found a precious doll, all so
daintily shod, among the gifts of their Merry Christmas.

[Illustration: MY DOLLY! MY OWN LITTLE DAUGHTER!]

A GLIMPSE OF SOME MONTANA BEAVERS.

Our road passed down along Hell-Gate river, leaving Deer Lodge City some
eight miles to the left. As one goes down, the country changes, and
occasional pines appear along the banks of the stream, and the landscape
becomes much more interesting. At one place, where a tiny tributary flows
in, a large community of beavers were building a dam. They were not at
all afraid of us, and so we leisurely observed the process, wishing to
settle the vexed question as to whether beavers do actually do
intelligent mason-work.

They had already sunk a great deal of brush, together with limbs of
trees, and were now fill