d and I do. We have not dined on tarts; and I
dare say Ned is as hungry as I am.'

So saying, he led the way towards the door, leaving me, as usual,
pondering over what had passed. One word used by the gentleman made a
great impression on me--USEFUL.

What could that mean? Various considerations were suggested by the
question. Some things, it seemed, were useful, others not; and what
puzzled me most was, that the very same things appeared to be useful to
some people, and not to others. For instance, the sixpenny paint-box,
which had been rejected as useless to Willy, was bought soon afterwards
by a small boy, who said it would be the most useful toy he had.

Could this be the case with every thing? Was it possible that every
thing properly applied might have its use, and that its value depended
upon those who used it? If so, why was Geoffrey blamed for spending his
money in tarts? _He_ liked them. Perhaps he had plenty of food at home,
and that uselessness consisted in a thing's not being really wanted. I
revolved the subject in my mind, and tried to discover the use of every
thing I saw, but I was not always successful. The subject was
perplexing; and gradually all my thoughts became fixed on the point of
most importance to myself--namely, my own use.

How changed were my ideas since the time when I imagined the world to
belong to dolls! Their whole race now seemed to be of very small
importance; and as for my individual self, I could not be sure that I
had any use at all, and still less _what_, or _to whom_.

Day after day I lay on my counter unnoticed, except by the shopwoman who
covered us up at night, and re-arranged us in the morning; and even this
she did with such an indifferent air, that I could not flatter myself I
was of the smallest use to _her_. Every necessary care was bestowed upon
me in common with my companions; but I sighed for the tender attentions
that I sometimes saw lavished by children upon their dolls, and wished
that my mistress would nurse and caress me in the same manner.

She never seemed to think of such a thing. She once said I was dusty,
and whisked a brush over my face; but that was the only separate mark of
interest I ever received from her. I had no reasonable ground of
complaint, but I began to grow weary of the insipidity of my life, and
to ask myself whether this could be my only destiny. Was I never to be
of use to any body? From time to time other toys were carried away. Many