wed to fall down anywhere. She was made of a single stick of wood,
with a head carved on top, but without arms or legs, like the Italian
babies, who are wound about with cloths until they resemble little
mummies.

She remained quietly where she had been placed, between a flannel
waistcoat and a pair of stockings, with her head resting on a meerschaum
pipe. She thought of her home, and sighed. Yes, she was homesick,
because she loved her own land as only the Tyrolese and the Swiss love
their native mountains.

The shy gentleman had bought the St. Ulric doll at a booth under the
stone archway of one of the streets of Botzen. He could not carry away
with him the beautiful Austrian Tyrol, except as pictures in his own
mind, and therefore he picked up the droll and ugly little St. Ulric
doll.

"When I give the doll to Nelly, I will tell her about the mountain peaks
where the hunters climb to shoot the chamois and the black-cock, and the
valleys down toward Italy where the grapes ripen, and all about the
castles perched like watch-towers along the Brenner route," thought the
shy gentleman, wrapping the purchase in the bit of tissue-paper. "I must
not forget to add that this Brenner Pass, where the traveller of to-day
journeys on the railway from Munich to Verona, is one of the oldest
highways in the world; the Etruscan merchants used to pass here, trading
in iron with the Northern nations, long before the Romans."

One day a tremendous rattling was heard inside the case of the
mechanical bear.

"What is the matter? Are you seasick?" inquired the lion of St. Mark.

"No," grumbled the mechanical bear. "I have been standing on my head too
long, and if this voyage does not soon end, my machinery will be out of
order. I shall growl at the wrong time."

"We must be gifts for children. I hope they will like us," said the St.
Ulric doll.

"I hope we shall like _them_," said the French doll. "I come from a shop
window on the Boulevard des Italiens. How can I live out of Paris!"

Just then the lid of the portmanteau was lifted, and a Custom-house
officer looked in. The steamer had reached New York.

"Here he is, mamma!" cried a little girl, as a carriage paused before
the door of a house on Gramercy Square.

She had been looking out of the window. Now she ran down stairs, and
opened the front door. Two gentlemen got out of the carriage; one was
her uncle Fred, and the other a traveller with a brown beard, whose arms
were