I'd always rather have Alice, too--always, always," said Peggy.

"But if you were fond of dolls, and Alice had been saying impolite
things about them, you might find it pleasanter to have Diana all to
yourself. I suspect you have been saying some not very kind things about
Alice's family."

"I said Belle looked as if she had smallpox," Peggy owned, "and so she
does. I said Sally Waters's feet were so small she could put them in her
mouth."

"Do you think those remarks were very kind?"

Peggy looked thoughtful. "Perhaps not exactly kind," she said.

"Now, Peggy, I am going to let you sleep with me to-night," said Mrs.
Owen.

"Truly mother," said Peggy, with a radiant face.

"And now we will think out just how we can make Alice and Diana have a
good time to-morrow," Mrs. Owen went on. "Suppose, while I am making
cookies and biscuit for the flesh-and-blood members of the family, you
make small ones for the dolls? I am sure that will delight the little
mothers. To tell the truth, Peggy, I didn't like dolls a bit better than
you do when I was a little girl. I liked playing around with my brother
William and your father a great deal better."

Peggy felt a little happier when Diana said, in a disappointed tone,
"Isn't Peggy going to sleep with us?"

"No," said Alice; "the dolls are going to sleep with us. Peggy doesn't
care about dolls. I am going to have a real feast of dolls, for once in
my life."

"And I am going to sleep with mother," said Peggy proudly.

"You are not!" said Alice, thinking Peggy was joking.

Peggy could hear the children's voices going on and on in the other
room, as she lay in bed. It made her feel lonely. Her mother always sat
up late, so she would not come to bed for a long time. She tried to
amuse herself by seeing things on the wall, but this was no fun without
Alice. The voices in the other room went on and on until Peggy grew
drowsy, and at last, fell asleep.

She was waked up by the slamming of a blind. The wind had risen, and she
felt the cold air blowing in at her window. She looked at the face of
the illuminated clock, which stood at the side of her mother's bed, on a
small table. The hands pointed to ten minutes past ten. Her mother would
soon come upstairs. The wind was so cold she got up to shut the window,
and her bare feet walked into a snowdrift. Yes, there was really quite a
little mound of snow on the floor, for it had begun snowing fast just
before supper. She stopped