n one chair, which I suppose is the
constant habit of Kings and Queens. They were both very nice and neat,
for the nurse had just brushed their hair. The Queen was four years old,
and the King was six. And they were both the very prettiest children you
could see.

The little Queen had a blue print frock, and a little round face. She
had pretty shy eyes that looked out from beneath a shock of curly hair.
The little King was very pretty too. And he liked to play with dolls,
which I always think is a nice trait of character in a boy.

"Oh, what a lovely doll!" cried the Queen, when she first saw me. I may
repeat it without vanity, for I suppose it was true. Anyway it is
exactly what everybody said the moment they set eyes on me. People
always praise dolls to their faces, and that is what makes us look so
conceited. Even when we are old, and battered, and worn-out we still
preserve a somewhat conceited air--we still look pleased and proud of
ourselves so long as there is one little child who loves us, and who
thinks us pretty still.

The King and Queen sat down together on their throne, and were as happy
as happy could be. The little Queen's feet dangled a good way off the
ground, but she did not mind that in the least. She put one chubby arm
round her brother to keep her quite firm, and the other arm was round
me.

When a nice little fat, dimpled arm holds me tightly against a loving
heart, I feel very pleased and happy. If I were a pussy-cat I should
purr, for I feel that I am in my right place.

"Now I am King and you are Queen," said the little boy; "and everybody
that comes in must bow to us."

"Dolly shall be the Princess," said the little girl, in a voice like
that of a cooing dove.

"Her name must be Sophonisba," said the little boy gravely. "That sounds
something like a Princess."

"Topanithba," repeated the little girl, very much pleased; and she
pressed me close to her heart.

Suddenly a cloud passed over the face of the little boy. He looked at me
hard for a minute, and then he spoke.

"No, that won't do at all," he said; "I am an old French King, and we're
under the old Salic law. She mustn't be a Princess, or she'll never come
to the throne. We must pretend she is a Prince, and we'll call her
Jack."

You should have seen the little girl's face at this. All the dimples
went out of it, and she looked quite frightened.

"Oh, don't call her Jack, dear," she cried; "it's so ugly. And I'd
rather she