"Do you like people to be mysterious, Bessie?" asked her father, laughing.
"About dolls, I do, papa; but about some things, I don't."
"What things?"
"When they're going to say what they don't want me to hear, and they send me out of the yoom. I don't like that way of being mysteyious at all. It hurts children's feelings very much to be sent out of the yoom."
"What are these magnificent young ladies to be named?" asked Uncle John, at the breakfast-table.
"Mine is to be Bessie Margaret Marion," said Maggie,—"after mamma and Bessie and Mrs. Rush."
"Why, all your dolls are named Bessie," said Harry; "there are big Bessie and little Bessie and middling Bessie."
"I don't care," said Maggie; "this is going to be Bessie too. She will have two other names, so it will be very nice. Besides, I am not going to play with middling Bessie again. The paint is all off her cheeks, and Franky smashed her nose in, and yesterday I picked out her eyes, to see what made them open and shut, so she is not very pretty any more. I am going to let Susie have her."