The storm was not over. The snow turned to rain and poured continually. Mrs. Garland had nearly time to paint a whole set of china; for of course Kittyleen could not go home that day.
In the afternoon the child, having quarrelled with little Ethel, strayed alone into Mrs. Gray's chamber. There on the great bracket against the wall stood that wonderful inlaid cabinet, pretty enough in itself to be gazed at and examined by curious little folks, even if there had been nothing inside. Kittyleen knew, however, that it contained the doll—Flaxie's doll—that was too sacred for little girls to touch. She could not have told afterwards why she did it, but she climbed on a chair and pulled at one of the doors of the cabinet. She certainly did not expect it would open, but to her intense delight it did open, and there in plain sight on a shelf lay the beautiful princess, fast asleep.
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Kittyleen in a perfect tremor of joy.
The princess lay there and smiled. You could almost see her breathe.
"Mustn't touch!" whispered Kittyleen to her meddling fingers.
Touch? Oh, no indeed!
But she swayed to and fro upon the chair and gazed. And evermore as she gazed, the longing grew upon her to know how much of Princess Arozarena was wax and how much was living flesh and blood. Had she teeth? a tongue? were there two holes in that pretty nose?
"I've got a nose, dolly, you've got a nose; everybody in this house has got a nose, two holes—way—in."
Here she picked a pin out of her collar and flourished it over those waxen nostrils. If they were hollow—