"IT'S so wainy, I can't go out, and evwybody is so cwoss they won't play with me," said Maud, when Polly found her fretting on the stairs, and paused to ask the cause of her wails.
"I'll play with you; only, don't scream and wake your mother. What shall we play?"
"I don't know; I'm tired of evwything, 'cause my toys are all bwoken, and my dolls are all sick but Clawa," moaned Maud, giving a jerk to the Paris doll which she held upside down by one leg in the most unmaternal manner.
"I'm going to dress a dolly for my little sister; wouldn't you like to see me do it?" asked Polly, persuasively, hoping to beguile the cross child and finish her own work at the same time.
"No, I shouldn't, 'cause she'll look nicer than my Clawa. Her clothes won't come off; and Tom spoilt 'em playing ball with her in the yard."
"Wouldn't you like to rip these clothes off, and have me show you how to make some new ones, so you can dress and undress Clara as much as you like?"