om underneath the pile: "I don't care!
Minnesota forever!" till her breath gave out.

Dora was so mortified that she never said a word till they were let out
in a room at the Parker House. Here she admired everything, and read all
the evening in a volume of Emerson's Poems from the bag, for Mr. Mt.
Vernon Beacon was a Boston man, and never went anywhere without a wise
book or two in his pocket.

Flo turned up her nose at all she saw, and devoted herself to a long
chat with the smart bag which came from New York and was full of gossip.

The next afternoon they really got to Portland, and as soon as Mr.
Beacon had made his toilet he set out to find little Miss Plum. When the
parlor door opened to admit her he was much embarrassed, for, advancing
with a paternal smile and the dolls extended to the expected child, he
found himself face to face with a pretty young lady, who looked as if
she thought him a little mad.

A few words explained the errand, however, and when she read the note
Aunt Maria's bright eyes were full of tears as she said, hugging the
dilapidated dolls:

"I'll write the story of their travels, and send the dear old things
back to the children as soon as possible."

And so she did with Mr. Beacon's help, for he decided to try the air of
Portland, and spent his vacation there. The dolls were re-painted and
re-dressed till they were more beautiful than ever, and their clothes
fine enough to suit even Flo.

They were a good while doing this, and when all was ready, Aunt Maria
took it into her head to run out to St. Paul and surprise the children.
By a singular coincidence Mr. Beacon had railroad business in that
direction, so they set off together, with two splendid dolls done up in
a gay box.

All that was ever known about that journey was that these travellers
stopped at the hospital in New York, and went on better friends than
before after hearing from the good Doctor all the pathetic story of
little Midge.

The young Plums had long ago given up the hope of ever seeing Do and Flo
again, for they started in June and it was early in September when Aunt
Maria appeared before them without the least warning, accompanied by a
pleasant gentleman from Boston.

Six kisses had hardly resounded from Aunty's blooming cheeks when a most
attractive box was produced from the Russia leather bag, and the
wandering dolls restored to the arms of their enraptured mammas.

A small volume neatly written and adorned