"No, she never gives away one of the dolls you've given her, father," said Mrs. Whitney slowly, "not a single one. I tried her one day, asking her to give me one to bestow on a poor child, and she quite reproached me by the look in her brown eyes. I haven't asked her since."
"What did she say?" asked Mr. King abruptly.
"'I can't, Auntie; dear Grandpapa gave them to me himself.' Then she ran for her savings bank, and poured out the money in my lap. 'Let's go out and buy the poor child a doll,' she begged, and I really had to do it. And there must be at least two hundred dolls in this house."
"Two hundred dolls!" cried Alexia in astonishment, and raising her hands.
"Why, yes; father has been bringing Phronsie dolls for the last five years, with the greatest faithfulness, till her family has increased to a painful extent."
"O dear me!" cried Alexia, with great emphasis. "I should think they'd be under foot in every room."
"Well, indeed they're not," said Polly; "she keeps them up in her playroom."
"And the playroom closet," said Mrs. Whitney, "that is full. I peeped in there yesterday, and the dolls are ranged according to the times when father gave them to her."
"And the baby-house is just crowded," laughed Jasper. "I know, because
I saw her moving out her chairs and tables to make room."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Alexia again, for want of something else to say.