Then she went to work. The pawns were dressed as pages, the kings and queens in flowing robes, with crowns of gilt or silver paper, glued on, the knights in coats of mail,—strips of silver paper laid over one another like the shingles on a roof,—the bishops in long gowns, with mitre on the head,—all in the two colors of their respective sides. The four castles were made of pieces of gray sandpaper, glued into cylinder shape, with battlement-shaped strips around the top; when glued on their standards, they looked like little stone castles.
When they were all dressed,—and it took many days and much contriving,—Lottie found that few of them would stand up, and those which possessed the accomplishment were very tottlish, and fell down at the slightest provocation.
That would never do, so she set her wits to work to provide standards.
She took an old broom handle, and sawed it into thin slices.
When she had thirty-two of these slices, she covered them neatly with pieces of old black broadcloth, glued on, over top, edge, and all. Then she dipped the feet of each china personage into the hot, stiff glue, and held it in place till the glue set.
They would stick nicely, and stand up as straight as any chessmen.
Then she drew the long robes into folds, just touched with glue, and festooned to the standard so as not to get out of place.
When the whole set was done, Lottie was delighted; and, indeed, they were extremely pretty.
Every night, when May and her father would get out the old set, made of button moulds, with the name printed on with ink, Lottie would think what a surprise there would be.
But she was not done with plans.