“I was about to protest again, when the paint-box came forward, and balancing itself in an artistic, undecided kind of way on two camel’s-hair brushes which seemed to serve it for feet, addressed the Jack-in-a-box.

“’Never dip your paint into the water.  Never put your brush into your mouth—­”

“‘That’s not evidence,’ said the Jack-in-a-box.

“‘Your notions are crude,’ said the paint-box loftily; ’it’s in print, and here, all of it, or words to that effect;’ with which he touched the lid, as a gentleman might lay his hand upon his heart.

“‘It’s not evidence,’ repeated the Jack-in-a-box.  ‘Let us proceed.’

“‘Take her to pieces and see what she’s made of, if you please,’ tittered a pretty German toy that moved to a tinkling musical accompaniment.  ’If her works are available after that it will be an era in natural science.’

“The idea tickled me, and I laughed.

“‘Hard-hearted wretch!’ growled the Dowager Doll.

“‘Dip her in water and leave her to soak on a white soup-plate,’ said the paint-box; ’if that doesn’t soften her feelings, deprive me of my medal from the School of Art!’

“‘Give her a stiff neck!’ muttered the mandarin.  ’Ching Fo! give her a stiff neck.’

“‘Knock her teeth out,’ growled the rake in a scratchy voice; and then the tools joined in chorus.

“’Take her out when it’s fine and leave her out when it’s wet, and lose her in—­

“‘The coal-hole,’ said the spade.

“‘The hay-field,’ said the rake.

“‘The shrubbery,’ said the hoe.

“This difference of opinion produced a quarrel, which in turn seemed to affect the general behaviour of the toys, for a disturbance arose which the Jack-in-a-box vainly endeavoured to quell.  A dozen voices shouted for a dozen different punishments, and (happily for me) each toy insisted upon its own wrongs being the first to be avenged, and no one would hear of the claims of any one else being attended to for an instant.  Terrible sentences were passed, which I either failed to hear through the clamour then, or have forgotten now.  I have a vague idea that several voices cried that I was to be sent to wash in somebody’s pocket; that the work-basket wished to cram my mouth with unfinished needlework; and that through all the din the thick voice of my old leather ball monotonously repeated: 

“‘Throw her into the dust-hole.’

“Suddenly a clear voice pierced the confusion, and Rosa tripped up.

“‘My dears,’ she began, ’the only chance of restoring order is to observe method.  Let us follow our usual rule of precedence.  I claim the first turn as the prisoner’s oldest toy.’

“‘That you are not, Miss,’ snapped the Dowager; ’I was in the family for fifty years.’

“’In the family.  Yes, ma’am; but you were never her doll in particular.  I was her very own, and she kept me longer than any other plaything.  My judgment must be first.’