Inside the screen the floor-space was covered with an old hearth-rug. The most imposing article of furniture was the bedstead. Mr. Conway had had it made by a carpenter three Christmases ago, and Mrs. Conway had made the clothing. Surely there never [87] ]was so beautiful a thing. It was made of cedar, and was large enough to accommodate at a pinch four dolls, seeing the habit of these diminutives is to lie perfectly straight and not sprawl about like humans. The head and foot were slightly carved, it had prettily-turned pillars, and beneath the mattress were white laths. The bed itself was of feathers, and the casing of blue Belgian tick exactly like “grown-up” beds. Then there came an under-blanket with a red button-holed edge, a beautiful sheet, two sweet tiny pillows in frilled pillow-cases, another sheet, another blanket (this one prettily stitched), and, crowning glory of all, a patchwork counterpane made of lovely bits of silk, and lined delicately with pale pink. There were even nightdress pockets, edged with lace, to lay upon it in the daytime.
Phyl and Dolly went to their corner to see their large families into bed as one means of filling the time this evening.
They folded all the tiny garments in stacks, and inducted even the most battered and headless specimens of dollhood into nightgowns.
“The sheets are very dirty,” Dolly said; “we quite forgot, Phyl, it was washing day to-day. How’d it be if we do it now? We can dry the things on the fire-guard.”
But Phyl had covered up the last of her offspring, and was bringing out a tattered copy of The Arabian Nights.
[88]
]“I think we’d better read,” she said, “then the time will go very quickly.”
“Well, wait for me a second,” Dolly said, hastily plaiting up the long golden hair of Constance, the one fashionable doll of the assembly. Then they lay down together on the hearth-rug, the book between them, and their chins propped in their hands.
“Oh,” said the little lonely person outside the screen, “I’ve nosing to do, Dolly, le’s wash the things and hang them upon the line? Le’s come in, Phyl?”
“Hide the best little cups,” whispered Phyl to Dolly.
“She’ll bweak the mangle,” whispered Dolly to Phyl,