"I had almost guessed it, you know," she said, "when you said like angels with hats on. But I couldn't think there would be a hundred unless it was a store. What has the lady so many for?"
"Bless your heart! They ain't for herself! They are for orphans in a school that a minister-cousin of hers is superintendent of. She has been over a month making these clothes. Every Wednesday she would give a tea party, and a lot of ladies come and sit stitching and snipping and buzzing over the dolls' clothes the blessed afternoon. And I washed the tea things after them all!"
"They are for the orphans. Are there a hundred orphans?"
"I guess likely."
"Suppose, Sally—suppose there were only ninety-nine, and some girl got two!"
"Well, we two have got a hundred for to-night, Tibbie, so let's play, and glad enough we've got our mothers. Look, this is the way you must hold them to be sure of not crumpling anything."
She slipped her hand deftly under a doll's petticoats, and they peeped discreetly at the dainty under-clothes, crisp and snowy, more lace than linen.
"My soul and body! Did you ever see the like!" exclaimed Sally, spurring on Tibbie's enthusiasm by the tone of her voice, making the wonder more, to fill her little friend's soul to intoxication. Tibbie easily responded. She fairly rocked herself to and fro with delight.
"And not a pin among 'em," sighed Sally. "All pearl buttons and silk tying-strings and silver hooks and eyes; and, mercy on my soul! a little bit of a pocket in every dress, with its little bit of a lace pocket-handkerchief inside. D'you see that, Tibbie? And not two alike!"
"Oh, but there are some 'most alike!" said the quick-eyed Tibbie; "only, scattered far apart. There are three with the little rose-bud silk, and here's more than one with the speckled muslin. Perhaps those will be given to sisters."