s grew
between their stems, covering the walls of this summer parlor with the
prettiest tapestry. A board, propped on two blocks of wood, stood in
the middle of the walk, covered with a little plaid shawl much the
worse for wear, and on it a miniature tea service was set forth with
great elegance. To be sure, the tea-pot had lost its spout, the
cream-jug its handle, the sugar-bowl its cover, and the cups and plates
were all more or less cracked or nicked; but polite persons would not
take notice of these trifling deficiencies, and none but polite persons
were invited to this party.

On either side of the porch was a seat, and here a somewhat remarkable
sight would have been revealed to any inquisitive eye peering through
the aforesaid key-hole. Upon the left-hand seat lay seven dolls, upon
the right-hand seat lay six, and so varied were the expressions of
their countenances, owing to fractures, dirt, age and other
afflictions, that one would very naturally have thought this a doll's
hospital, and these the patients waiting for their tea. This, however,
would have been a sad mistake; for, if the wind had lifted the
coverings laid over them, it would have disclosed the fact that all
were in full dress, and merely reposing before the feast should begin.

There was another interesting feature of the scene which would have
puzzled any but those well acquainted with the manners and customs of
dolls. A fourteenth rag baby, with a china head, hung by her neck from
the rusty knocker in the middle of the door. A sprig of white and one
of purple lilac nodded over her, a dress of yellow calico, richly
trimmed with red flannel scallops, shrouded her slender form, a garland
of small flowers crowned her glossy curls, and a pair of blue boots
touched toes in the friendliest, if not the most graceful, manner. An
emotion of grief, as well as of surprise, might well have thrilled any
youthful breast at such a spectacle, for why, oh! why, was this
resplendent dolly hung up there to be stared at by thirteen of her
kindred? Was she a criminal, the sight of whose execution threw them
flat upon their backs in speechless horror? Or was she an idol, to be
adored in that humble posture? Neither, my friends. She was blonde
Belinda, set, or rather hung, aloft, in the place of honor, for this
was her seventh birthday, and a superb ball was about to celebrate the
great event.

[Illustration: "A RAG-BABY HUNG FROM THE RUSTY KNOCKER."]

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