"She is a favorite everywhere," E. E. went on, cooling down like a brick oven after the coals are hauled out.
I said nothing.
"Ahead of girls twice her age," E. E. went on. "She speaks French like a native."
"Is there anything more to put on?" says I.
"Yes," says she, "we will have the presents ready for the morning. I meant to have some of Cecelia's friends here to-morrow night, but she wanted the tree to herself."
With this, E. E. brought an armful of boxes and things from the next room. The first thing she set up against the stem of the tree was a doll, dressed in a splendid silk ball-dress, with a long, sweeping train, and teinty rose-buds in her yellow curls. The blue eyes were natural as life, and her face was just lovely. Then she brought out a Saratoga trunk about as big as a foot-stool, which was crowded full of dolls' dresses, just such as a live young lady would be proud to wear.
"Isn't it beautiful?" says E. E.
"I should think so," says I; "how much did it cost?"
"A hundred and twenty-five dollars," says she. "I sent to Paris for it."
"A hundred and twenty-five dollars?" says I, lifting up both hands; "that would keep a poor family how long?"