"She's up in the play-house at it now, I suppose," said Alexia, "dressing every one of them for the party to-morrow."
"Yes," said Polly, "she is."
"Well, I hope no one will give her a doll to-morrow," said Alexia, "at least no one but Mr. King. Of course he will."
"Oh! no one else will," declared Polly cheerfully. "Of course not,
Alexia."
And then Jencks walked in with his seven boxes exactly alike as to size, and deposited them solemnly in a row on the blue and white lounge. "For Miss Phronsie Pepper, and not to be opened till to-morrow, Miss Mary."
"Polly," said Alexia in a stage whisper, and jumping up as Jencks disappeared, to run over to the row, "do you suppose they are dolls?"
"I shall die if they are," declared Polly desperately, and sitting quite still.
"They surely look like dolls on the very covers," said Alexia, fingering the cords. "Would it be so very wrong to open one box, and just relieve our suspense? Just one, Polly?"
"No, no, don't," cried Polly sharply. "They belong to Phronsie. But O dear me!"
"And just think," said Alexia, like a Job's comforter, and looking over at the clock, "it's only half-past eleven. Polly Pepper, there's time for oceans more to come in yet."