Betty agreed, and for several minutes both were absorbed in seating their dolls about the table, for some of the dear things were so limp they wouldn’t sit up, and others so stiff they wouldn’t sit down, and all sorts of seats had to be contrived to suit the peculiarities of their spines.  This arduous task accomplished, the fond mammas stepped back to enjoy the spectacle, which, I assure you, was an impressive one.  Belinda sat with great dignity at the head, her hands genteelly holding a pink cambric pocket-handkerchief in her lap.  Josephus, her cousin, took the foot, elegantly arrayed in a new suit of purple and green gingham, with his speaking countenance much obscured by a straw hat several sizes too large for him; while on either side sat guests of every size, complexion and costume, producing a very gay and varied effect, as all were dressed with a noble disregard of fashion.

“They will like to see us get tea.  Did you forget the buns?” inquired Betty, anxiously.

“No; got them in my pocket.”  And Bab produced from that chaotic cupboard two rather stale and crumbly ones, saved from lunch for the fete.  These were cut up and arranged in plates, forming a graceful circle around the cake, still in its basket.

“Ma couldn’t spare much milk, so we must mix water with it.  Strong tea isn’t good for children, she says.”  And Bab contentedly surveyed the gill of skim-milk which was to satisfy the thirst of the company.

“While the tea draws and the cake cools let’s sit down and rest; I’m so tired!” sighed Betty, dropping down on the door-step and stretching out the stout little legs which had been on the go all day; for Saturday had its tasks as well as its fun, and much business had preceded this unusual pleasure.

Bab went and sat beside her, looking idly down the walk toward the gate, where a fine cobweb shone in the afternoon sun.

“Ma says she is going over the house in a day or two, now it is warm and dry after the storm, and we may go with her.  You know she wouldn’t take us in the fall, ’cause we had whooping-cough and it was damp there.  Now we shall see all the nice things; wont it be fun?” observed Bab, after a pause.

“Yes, indeed!  Ma says there’s lots of books in one room, and I can look at ’em while she goes round.  May be I’ll have time to read some, and then I can tell you,” answered Betty, who dearly loved stories and seldom got any new ones.

“I’d rather see the old spinning-wheel up garret, and the big pictures, and the queer clothes in the blue chest.  It makes me mad to have them all shut up there when we might have such fun with them.  I’d just like to bang that old door down!” And Bab twisted round to give it a thump with her boots.  “You needn’t laugh; you know you ’d like it as much as me,” she added, twisting back again, rather ashamed of her impatience.

“I didn’t laugh.”

“You did!  Don’t you suppose I know what laughing is?”