'Oh no, thank you,' answered Mary, 'I'm not at all sleepy. I'd much sooner look out of window.'
'I thought perhaps you would like me to tell you a story,' said Evangeline.
'Yes, I should like you to tell me a story!' cried Mary, and she climbed down from the seat and nestled close to Evangeline's side.
VII
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE GIRL, THE DOG, AND THE DOLL
Once upon a time there was a little girl whose name was Bertha. She had no brother or sister, but she had two very dear friends: one was a doll with a broken nose and only half an arm; the other was a white terrier with a brown patch on his back, a short stump of a tail, and a cold black nose.
The dog's name was Samuel, and whilst he was very fond of Bertha he was deeply attached to Moggy too; Moggy, you understand, was the doll. Moggy might often be seen leaning against the nursery fender, with Samuel by her side blinking solemnly at the fire. But every now and then he would turn to look at Moggy, and put out his tongue and waggle his stumpy tail from side to side on the carpet.
Though Samuel wore a handsome collar he had quite forgotten what a chain was, for he had not been tied up for years. He never slept in the old kennel outside the kitchen door, because he preferred the mat in the hall.
Now, for a long time Moggy had slept on Bertha's pillow, and though Bertha had other dolls who were much prettier than Moggy she never took them to bed with her. But one day—it was Bertha's birthday—her mother bought her the prettiest doll she could find, a doll that opened and shut her eyes.