Dora, clasping the doll to her, and
turning away. "She's quite good, yet."

"How miserly you are," said her brother; "and selfish, too; for you
know I can't have a military funeral till you'll let me bury that old
thing."

Dora began to cry.

"There you go, crying!" said Robin, impatiently. "Look here: I won't
take it till you get the new one on your birthday. You can't be so
mean as not to let me have it then!"

But Dora's tears still fell. "I love this one so much," she sobbed. "I
love her better than the new one."

"You want both; that's it," said Robin, angrily. "Dora, you're the
meanest girl I ever knew!"

At which unjust and painful accusation Dora threw herself and the doll
upon their faces, and wept bitterly. The eyes of the soft-hearted
Nicholas began to fill with tears, and he squatted down before her,
looking most dismal. He had a fellow-feeling for her attachment to an
old toy, and yet Robin's will was law to him.

"Couldn't we make a coffin, and pretend the body was inside?" he
suggested.

"No, we couldn't," said Robin. "I wouldn't play the Dead March after
an empty candle-box. It's a great shame--and I promised she should be
chaplain in one of my night-gowns, too."

"Perhaps you'll get just as fond of the new one," said Nicholas,
turning to Dora.

But Dora only cried, "No, no! He shall have the new one to bury, and
I'll keep my poor, dear, darling Betsy." And she clasped Betsy tighter
than before.

"That's the meanest thing you've said yet," retorted Robin; "for you
know Mamma wouldn't let me bury the new one." And, with an air of
great disgust, he quitted the nursery.

"A MUMMING WE WILL GO."

Nicholas had sore work to console his little sister, and Betsy's
prospects were in a very unfavourable state, when a diversion was
caused in her favour by a new whim which put the military funeral out
of Robin's head.

After he left the nursery he strolled out of doors, and, peeping
through the gate at the end of the drive, he saw a party of boys going
through what looked like a military exercise with sticks and a good
deal of stamping; but, instead of mere words of command, they all
spoke by turns, as in a play. In spite of their strong Yorkshire
accent, Robin overheard a good deal, and it sounded very fine. Not
being at all shy, he joined them, and asked so many questions that he
soon got to know all about it. They were practising a Christmas
mumming-play, called "The Peace Egg." Why it was