son of the house. 'I only make pincushions
and pen-wipers, to use up my waste. But my straw really does belong to
my business. Try again. What do I make with my straw?'

'Dinner-mats?'

'A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats! I'll give you a clue to my trade,
in a game of forfeits. I love my love with a B because she's Beautiful;
I hate my love with a B because she is Brazen; I took her to the sign of
the Blue Boar, and I treated her with Bonnets; her name's Bouncer, and
she lives in Bedlam.--Now, what do I make with my straw?'

'Ladies' bonnets?'

'Fine ladies',' said the person of the house, nodding assent. 'Dolls'.
I'm a Doll's Dressmaker.'

'I hope it's a good business?'

The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. 'No.
Poorly paid. And I'm often so pressed for time! I had a doll married,
last week, and was obliged to work all night. And it's not good for me,
on account of my back being so bad and my legs so queer.'

They looked at the little creature with a wonder that did not diminish,
and the schoolmaster said: 'I am sorry your fine ladies are so
inconsiderate.'

'It's the way with them,' said the person of the house, shrugging her
shoulders again. 'And they take no care of their clothes, and they
never keep to the same fashions a month. I work for a doll with three
daughters. Bless you, she's enough to ruin her husband!' The person of
the house gave a weird little laugh here, and gave them another look out
of the corners of her eyes. She had an elfin chin that was capable of
great expression; and whenever she gave this look, she hitched this chin
up. As if her eyes and her chin worked together on the same wires.

'Are you always as busy as you are now?'

'Busier. I'm slack just now. I finished a large mourning order the day
before yesterday. Doll I work for, lost a canary-bird.' The person of
the house gave another little laugh, and then nodded her head several
times, as who should moralize, 'Oh this world, this world!'

'Are you alone all day?' asked Bradley Headstone. 'Don't any of the
neighbouring children--?'

'Ah, lud!' cried the person of the house, with a little scream, as
if the word had pricked her. 'Don't talk of children. I can't bear
children. I know their tricks and their manners.' She said this with an
angry little shake of her tight fist close before her eyes.

Perhaps it scarcely required the teacher-habit, to perceive that the
doll's dressmaker was inclined