IT was once a undeniable little doll that had been offered for sixpence at a stall in the market-place. It had scanty hair and a susceptible composition face, a calico physique and foolish toes that constantly became inwards alternatively of outwards, and from which the sawdust now and then oozed.
Yet in its glass eyes there was once an expression of amusement; they appeared to be searching no longer at you however through you, and the pursed-up crimson lips had been constantly smiling at what the glass eyes saw.
"Well, you are a doll," the boy said, searching up from his French exercise. "And what are you staring at me for is there whatever behind?" he asked, searching over has shoulder. The doll made no answer. "And something are you smiling for?" he asked; "I accept as true with you are continually smiling.
I agree with you'll go on if I did not do my exercising until subsequent year, or if the cat died, or the monument tumbled down." But nevertheless the doll smiled in silence, and the boy went on with his exercise. Presently he appeared up once more and yawned. "I suppose I'll go for a stroll," he said, and put his e book by. "I understand what I'll do," he said, suddenly; "I'll take that doll and hold it up to the apple tree to scare away the sparrows." And calling out, "Sis, I have taken your doll; I'm going to make a scarecrow of it," he went off to the garden.
