All were evidently awaiting a summons to the festive board, but such was the perfect breeding of these dolls that not a single eye out of the whole twenty-seven (Dutch Hans had lost one of the black beads from his worsted countenance) turned for a moment toward the table, or so much as winked, as they lay in decorous rows, gazing with mute admiration at Belinda.  She, unable to repress the joy and pride which swelled her sawdust bosom till the seams gaped, gave an occasional bounce as the wind waved her yellow skirts or made the blue boots dance a sort of jig upon the door.  Hanging was evidently not a painful operation, for she smiled contentedly, and looked as if the red ribbon around her neck was not uncomfortably tight; therefore, if slow suffocation suited her, who else had any right to complain?  So a pleasing silence reigned, not even broken by a snore from Dinah, the top of whose turban alone was visible above the coverlet, or a cry from baby Jane, though her bare feet stuck out in a way that would have produced shrieks from a less well-trained infant.

Presently voices were heard approaching, and through the arch which led to a side path came two little girls, one carrying a small pitcher, the other proudly bearing a basket covered with a napkin.  They looked like twins, but were not—­for Bab was a year older than Betty, though only an inch taller.  Both had on brown calico frocks, much the worse for a week’s wear, but clean pink pinafores, in honor of the occasion, made up for that, as well as the gray stockings and thick boots.  Both had round rosy faces rather sunburnt, pug noses somewhat freckled, merry blue eyes, and braided tails of hair hanging down their backs like those of the dear little Kenwigses.

“Don’t they look sweet?” cried Bab, gazing with maternal pride upon the left-hand row of dolls, who might appropriately have sung in chorus, “We are seven.”

“Very nice; but my Belinda beats them all.  I do think she is the splendidest child that ever was!” And Betty set down the basket to run and embrace the suspended darling, just then kicking up her heels with joyful abandon.

“The cake can be cooling while we fix the children.  It does smell perfectly delicious!” said Bab, lifting the napkin to hang over the basket, fondly regarding the little round loaf that lay inside.

“Leave some smell for me!” commanded Betty, rushing back to get her fair share of the spicy fragrance.

The pug noses sniffed it up luxuriously, and the bright eyes feasted upon the loveliness of the cake, so brown and shiny, with a tipsy-looking B in pie-crust staggering down one side, instead of sitting properly atop.

“Ma let me put it on the very last minute, and it baked so hard I couldn’t pick it off.  We can give Belinda that piece, so it’s just as well,” observed Betty, taking the lead, as her child was queen of the revel.

“Let’s set them round, so they can see too,” proposed Bab, going, with a hop, skip and jump, to collect her young family.