can't understand it at all,' he said at breakfast-time; 'any one
would think that Moggy was alive.'

'At all events, she must be jealous,' answered Mrs. Western, while
Samuel sat on his haunches begging for bacon.

'Well,' said Mr. Western, 'we shall not have to buy another doll
to-day--that will be a change anyhow. But I am determined to find out
how it happens. To-night I shall leave the new doll untied and fasten
Moggy to the table.'

'Poor Moggy!' cried Bertha, looking quite tearful about it.

When bedtime came, Mr. Western took a piece of cord from his pocket and
tied it tightly round Moggy's waist--she had a rather large waist, Moggy
was not at all a fashionable doll--then he passed the cord under the
table and fastened it securely to the leg. Samuel agreed with Bertha; he
did not like to see his dear old friend treated in this way; he seemed
very much distressed about it, and Bertha almost thought she heard him
growl.

'There, Miss Moggy!' cried Mr. Western; 'I don't think your rest will be
disturbed to-night.' And her rest was not disturbed, for when Mr.
Western visited the nursery the next morning he found Moggy lying on the
table in the middle of the room just as he had left her. 'Ah!' he said
to himself, 'I thought so; I thought you would be safe this time!' And
he turned towards Bertha's bed.

But where was the new doll? It was certainly not on the pillow where Mr.
Western had left it last night! What could have become of it? He looked
about the room, but there was no sign of the doll anywhere.

All breakfast-time Mr. Western was silent. He said nothing about the
doll, he took no notice of Samuel, but when he rose from his chair, he
said in a low, solemn voice--

'I should like you to buy another doll to-day--it need not be an
expensive doll, because this will be the fifth doll we have bought in
six days. But,' he added, 'it shall certainly be the last.'

So that afternoon Mrs. Western took Bertha out to buy another doll. Now
she was growing used to it, Bertha rather liked the idea of having a new
doll almost every day. But this doll was not a very nice one. Its hair
was not real; it was only painted on its head. Bertha never felt quite
at home with the doll, and it did not feel soft and warm when she
pressed it against her cheek. Still her mother wished her to take it to
bed with her and to leave Moggy on the table.

'Good-night, nurse,' said Bertha; 'don't quite shut the door, please.'
She fel