in a white
tarlatan, covered all over with spangles, and trimmed with scarlet. She
had an elegant bouquet of flowers on the waist, called a _corsage_, and
the most splendid cut-glass diamonds on her wrists and shoulders.
Rosalie's doll was decidedly the belle of the party.

There was a little girl present that was in what Lily called "a peck of
troubles," for she had had no idea that it was to be such a grand
affair, and she had brought her doll in a plain, white dress, rather
tumbled, and, what was worse, barefooted. Just to think--a lady at a
party without stockings or shoes! If she had been alive, instead of
being made of china, I am sure she would have fainted.

When Lily saw Bertha's distress, she said, "I will lend your doll a pair
of shoes, and she can be a lady from the other side of the Mississippi,
where they are not so particular;" and little Bertha's face brightened
into happiness again.

[Illustration: Lily handing Bertha her Doll, after lending the Shoes.]

Jessie, a sweet little blue-eyed fairy, with quiet, gentle manners,
brought two beautiful dolls, dressed in white, trimmed with black
velvet. The children all kissed the dolls, they thought them "so sweet;"
but Lily's mother kissed Jessie, and I think she had the best of it.

Ellie had a dolly that ought to have married the Kentucky giant, for she
was so big she had to have a whole chair to herself. The dear little
girl was so anxious to have her appear to advantage that, before she
came to the party, she went with her brother into the garden, and, after
a grand consultation, they picked two immense dahlias, which she
insisted should be pinned on dolly's shoulders, and her mother had great
difficulty in persuading her that dolly looked much handsomer without
them.

Hugh, a dear little boy with very bright eyes, brought a boy-doll, which
he called Mr. Brown.

There was one _live_ doll at the party. She was not quite as high as
Ellie's doll, and such a sweet little blue-eyed creature, with such
soft, curling hair that, if she had not been jumping and laughing
nearly all the time, you would really have taken her for a beautiful wax
doll. Her name was little "Mary," and she was about two years old.

I wish you could have heard little Mary sing "Where is my little Kitty
gone," sitting in a tiny chair with her little doll in her arms, bobbing
it up and down in her lap to keep time. Her sweet little baby voice was
like a robin's note; and I, for one,