"Grandma's things!" they said softly.
"Yes, these are what my dear mother played with when she was a little girl like Elsie and Vi" said mamma. "You may look at them."
There was a large babyhouse, beautifully furnished; there were many dolls of various sizes, and little chests and trunks full of nicely made clothes for them to wear—night-clothes, morning wrappers, gay silks and lovely white dresses, bonnets and hats, shoes and stockings too, and ribbons and laces, for the lady dolls; and for the gentlemen, coats, hats, vests, cravats and everything that real grown-up men wear; and for the baby dolls there were many suits of beautiful baby clothes; and all made so that they could be easily taken off and put on again.
There were cradles to rock the babies in, and coaches for them to ride in; there were dinner and tea-sets of the finest china and of solid silver; indeed almost everything in the shape of toys that the childish heart could desire.
The lonely little girl had not lacked for any pleasure that money could procure: but she had hungered for that best earthly gift—the love of father, mother, brothers and sisters—which can be neither bought nor sold.
The children examined all these things with intense interest and a sort of wondering awe, then begged their mother to tell them again about "dear grandma."
They had heard the story—all that mamma and mammy could tell—many times, but it never lost its charm.
"Yes, dears, I will: I love to think and speak of her," Elsie said, sitting down in a low chair while they gathered closely round her, the older two, one on each side, the others leaning upon her lap.
"Mamma, it is a sad story; but I love it," little Elsie said, drawing a deep sigh, as the tale came to an end.
"Yes, poor little girl, playing up here all alone," said Eddie.