“O my goodness me!” exclaimed Alexia, tumbling back after the first and only glance, and nearly overturning Cathie who was looking over her shoulder.  “Polly Pepper, O dear me!” Then she sat down on the floor and laughed till she cried.

“Hush—­hush!” cried Polly, running over to her, “do stop, Alexia, and get up.  She’ll hear you, and we wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.  Do stop, Alexia.”

“O dear me!” cried Alexia gustily, and holding her sides while she waved back and forth; “if it had been—­a—­respectable doll, but that—­horror!  O dear me!”

“Stop—­stop!” commanded Polly, shaking her arm.

But Alexia was beyond stopping herself.  And in between Candace’s delighted recital how she combed “de ha’r to take de curl out,” and how “ole Missus’ ruffles was made into de clothes,” came the peals of laughter that finally made every one in the room stop and look at the girls.

“Candace, come into my ‘den’ and get a pattern for some new pins I want you to make for me,” cried Jasper, desperately dragging her off.

“It’s no use to lecture me,” said Alexia, sitting straight as Candace’s feet shuffled down the hall, and wiping her face exhaustedly.  “I know it was dreadful—­O dear me!  Don’t anybody speak to me, or I shall disgrace myself again!”

“Now, Phronsie, what do you suppose we are to do next?”

Phronsie looked up into old Mr. King’s face.

“I don’t know, Grandpapa,” she said wonderingly.

“Well, now, my dear, you’ve had Punch and Judy, and these nice children,” waving his hand to indicate the delegation from the orphan asylum, “have sung beautifully for you.  Now what comes next, Phronsie?”

“I don’t know, Grandpapa,” repeated Phronsie.

“When gifts become burdensome they no longer are kindnesses,” said Mr. King.  “Now, Phronsie, I have found out—­never mind how; little birds, you now, sometimes fly around telling people things they ought to know.  Well, I have discovered in some way that my little girl has too many children to care for.”

Here Phronsie’s brown eyes became very wide.

“And when there are too many children in the nest, Phronsie, why, they have to go out into the world to try their fortunes and make other homes.  Now there are so many poor little girls who haven’t any children, Phronsie.  Think of that, dear; and you have so many.”

Phronsie at this drew nearer and stole her hand into his.

“Now what is to be done about it?” asked the old gentleman, putting his other broad palm over her little one and holding it fast.  “Hey, my pet?”

“Can’t we buy them some children?” asked Phronsie with warm interest.  “Oh, Grandpapa dear, do let us; I have money in my bank.”

“Phronsie,” said the old gentleman, going to the heart of the matter at once and lifting her to his lap, “I really think the time has come to give away some of your dolls.  I really do, child.”