th toys. There were big soft balls, rattles,
horses, woolly dogs, and a doll or so; there was one low cushioned chair
and a low table.

"You can come in," said a shrill little voice behind the door, "only mind
you don't tread on things."

"What a funny little voice!" said Jem, but she had no sooner said it than
she jumped back.

The owner of the voice, who had just come forward, was no other
than Baby.

"Why," exclaimed Jem, beginning to feel frightened, "I left you fast
asleep in your crib."

"Did you?" said Baby, somewhat scornfully. "That's just the way with you
grown-up people. You think you know everything, and yet you haven't
discretion enough to know when a pin is sticking into one. You'd know
soon enough if you had one sticking into your own back."

"But I'm not grown up," stammered Jem; "and when you are at home you can
neither walk nor talk. You're not six months old."

"Well, miss," retorted Baby, whose wrongs seemed to have soured her
disposition somewhat, "you have no need to throw that in my teeth; you
were not six months old, either, when you were my age."

Jem could not help laughing.

"You haven't got any teeth," she said.

"Haven't I?" said Baby, and she displayed two beautiful rows with some
haughtiness of manner. "When I am up here," she said, "I am supplied
with the modern conveniences, and that's why I never complain. Do I
ever cry when I am asleep? It's not falling asleep I object to, it's
falling awake."

"Wait a minute," said Jem. "Are you asleep now?"

"I'm what you call asleep. I can only come here when I'm what you call
asleep. Asleep, indeed! It's no wonder we always cry when we have to
fall awake."

"But we don't mean to be unkind to you," protested Jem, meekly.

She could not help thinking Baby was very severe.

"Don't mean!" said Baby. "Well, why don't you think more, then? How would
you like to have all the nice things snatched away from you, and all the
old rubbish packed off on you, as if you hadn't any sense? How would you
like to have to sit and stare at things you wanted, and not to be able to
reach them, or, if you did reach them, have them fall out of your hand,
and roll away in the most unfeeling manner? And then be scolded and
called 'cross!' It's no wonder we are bald. You'd be bald yourself. It's
trouble and worry that keep us bald until we can begin to take care of
ourselves; I had more hair than this at first, but it fell off, as well
it might. No philoso