es, certainly,' said granny.

Then she took my hand and I trotted upstairs beside her, carrying
Dollysweet, of course. And there, up in my little room--I had already
begun to sleep alone in my little room, though the door was always left
open between it and grandmamma's--there, at the ending of my birthday
was another lovely surprise. For, standing in a chair beside my cot was
a bed for my doll--_so_ pretty and cosy-looking.

Wasn't it nice of granny? I never knew any one like her for having _new_
sort of ideas. It made me go to bed so very, very happily, and that is
not always the case the night of a birthday. I have known children who,
even when they are pretty big, cry themselves to sleep because the
long-looked-for day is over.

It did not matter to me that my dolly's bed had cost nothing--except,
indeed, what was far more really precious than money--granny's loving
thought and work. It was made out of a strong cardboard box--the lid
fastened to the box, standing up at one end like the head part of a
French bed. And it was all beautifully covered with pink calico, which
grandmamma had had 'by her.' Granny was rather old-fashioned in some
ways, and fond of keeping a few odds and ends 'by her.' And over that
again, white muslin, all fruzzled on, that had once been pinafores of
mine, but had got too worn to use any more in that way.

There were little blankets, too, worked round with pink wool, and little
sheets, and everything--all made out of nothing but love and
contrivance!

It was so delightful to wake the next morning and see Dollysweet in her
nest beside me. She slept there every night for several years, and I am
afraid after some time she slept there a good deal in the day also. For
I gave up playing with dolls rather young--playing with _a_ doll, I
should say. I found it more interesting to have lots of little ones, or
of things that did instead of dolls--dressed-up chessmen did very well
at one time--that I could make move about and act and be anything I
wanted them to be, more easily than one or two big dolls.

Still I always took care of Dollysweet. I never neglected her or let her
get dirty and untidy, though in time, of course, her pink-and-white
complexion faded into pallid yellow, and her bright hair grew dull, and,
worst of all--after that I never could bear to look at her--one of her
sky-blue eyes dropped, not out, but _into_ her hollow head.

Poor old Dollysweet!

The day after my third birt