“How do you play that?” asked Minie.
“Why, first of all you get me some books out of my room,” ordered Jane, and Minie obediently trotted off to return grunting under the burden of “stage properties.”
“Now, you see, build a prison out of ’em,” went on Jane; “this is the Conciergerie, and it has to be full of prisoners; princesses and duchesses, and of course Marie Antoinette. Now, we’ll make a guillotine, and chop all their heads off. Don’t you think that’ll be fun?”
The twins were enchanted. Lottie piled the hooks into a “scaffold,” while Minie sat by, clashing the scissors, eagerly. And presently, one by one, the poor paper prisoners were marched to their doom, Jane directing the carnage, describing the history of each victim, like a Greek chorus, and delivering their last speeches, while Minie, hypnotized into passive obedience, snipped off the paper heads of her innocent, and dearly treasured dolls.
Suddenly Jane jumped up.
“I think this is an awful game!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, Jane, aren’t you going to play any more?” cried Lottie in dismay. Jane shook her head.
“And all my poor dollies are dead!” wailed Minie, suddenly realizing the extent of the disaster. Jane looked really guilty.
“We can make some more,” she said hastily; “there are lots of old magazines in mother’s room.”
“But you can’t make Isabel again,” wept Minie.