measles on the back shelf of the closet, you know, and nobody would have heard her if she had cried ever so loud."
"What a pretty face she has!" said Katy, taking the doll out of Amy's hands.
"Yes, but not so pretty as Mabel. Miss Upham says that Mabel is the prettiest child she ever saw. Look, Miss Clover," lifting the other doll from the table where she had laid it; "has n't she got sweet eyes? She's older than Maria Matilda, and she knows a great deal more. She's begun on French verbs!"
"Not really! Which ones?"
"Oh, only 'J'aime, tu aimes, il aime,' you know,—the same that our class is learning at school. She has n't tried any but that. Sometimes she says it quite nicely, but sometimes she's very stupid, and I have to scold her." Amy had quite recovered her spirits by this time.
"Are these the only dolls you have?"
"Oh, please don't call them that!" urged Amy. "It hurts their feelings dreadfully. I never let them know that they are dolls.
