aper. "Here is the pottery, Puffy!"
she said. "Uncle Jack says it isn't pottery, but something else; but
here it is, anyhow."

[Illustration: THE DOLL'S NURSERY.]

"Oh! how nice!" said Puff. "Sit down and read it to the children and
Peepsy, won't you, Fluff?"

So Fluff sat down, and as soon as she had recovered her breath, read as
follows:

Our Puffy has a little bird,
And Peepsy is his name,
And now I'll sing a little song,
To celebrate the same.

He's yellow all from head to foot,
And he is very sweet,
And very little trouble, for
He never wants to eat.

He never asks for water clear,
He never chirps for seed,
For cracker or for cuttlefish,
For sugar or chickweed.

"Oh what a perfect pet!" you cry,
But there's one little thing,
One drawback to the bonny bird,
Our Peepsy cannot sing.

He chirps no song at dawn or eve,
He makes no merry din,
But this, one cannot wonder at,
For Peepsy's made of tin.

"Isn't it lovely?" said Puff, drawing a long breath. "It prescribes him
perfectly. Doesn't it, you dear Peepsy?" she added, holding up a blue
cage about two inches square, in which hung the precious bird. "And did
you make it almost all, Fluffy?"

[Illustration]

"Well--no!" said Fluff, considering, "not almost _all_, but almost a
good deal of it. I said all the things I wanted to say, and Uncle Jack
changed some of the words, and put rhymes into them. I think it _is_
nice," she continued, "and I am glad you like it, Puff. But now we must
make haste and dress all the dolls in their best clothes, for Nibble and
Brighteyes promised to give Peepsy a birthday party, you know, and they
are getting it ready in the garden, under the cotton-wool tree."

[Illustration]

"The cotton-wool tree!" said I to myself. "I think I must look and see
what that means." So I tipped my glass just a hair's breadth, towards
the lower part of the garden. There, sure enough, were Nibble and
Brighteyes, hard at work amid the new-mown hay. They were making it into
five hay-cocks, which were arranged in a circle under a huge
balm-of-Gilead tree. The ground was covered with the pods which had
fallen from the tree, all filled with white soft silk cotton, and I knew
this must be the cotton-wool tree. Grim was tied to