fetime--the Marshalls would not have missed it for anything.
Stately, handsome old Grandmother Marshall was going, and Uncle
Roderick and Aunt Isabella, and of course Chrissie, who was always
taken everywhere because she was pretty and graceful, and everything
that Little Joyce was not.

Little Joyce would have liked to go to the concert, for she was very
fond of music; and, besides, she wanted to be able to tell Denise all
about it. But when you are shy and homely and thin and awkward, your
grandmother never takes you anywhere. At least, such was Little
Joyce's belief.

Little Joyce knew quite well that Grandmother Marshall did not like
her. She thought it was because she was so plain and awkward--and in
part it was. Grandmother Marshall cared very little for granddaughters
who did not do her credit. But Little Joyce's mother had married a
poor man in the face of her family's disapproval, and then both she
and her husband had been inconsiderate enough to die and leave a
small orphan without a penny to support her. Grandmother Marshall fed
and clothed the child, but who could make anything of such a shy
creature with no gifts or graces whatever? Grandmother Marshall had no
intention of trying. Chrissie, the golden-haired and pink-cheeked, was
Grandmother Marshall's pet.

Little Joyce knew this. She did not envy Chrissie but, oh, how she
wished Grandmother Marshall would love her a little, too! Nobody loved
her but Denise and the little black doll. And Little Joyce was
beginning to understand that Denise would not be in the kitchen
chamber very much longer, and the little black doll couldn't _tell_
you she loved you--although she did, of course. Little Joyce had no
doubt at all on this point.

Little Joyce sighed so deeply over this thought that Uncle Roderick
smiled at her. Uncle Roderick _did_ smile at her sometimes.

"What is the matter, Little Joyce?" he asked.

"I was thinking about my black doll," said Little Joyce timidly.

"Ah, your black doll. If Madame Laurin were to see it, she'd likely
want it. She makes a hobby of collecting dolls all over the world, but
I doubt if she has in her collection a doll that served to amuse a
little girl four thousand years ago in the court of the Pharaohs."

"I think Joyce's black doll is very ugly," said Chrissie. "My wax doll
with the yellow hair is ever so much prettier."

"My black doll isn't ugly," cried Little Joyce indignantly. She could
endure to be called ugly