the floor. Just think what a trial to a lady of fine education and manners! It was enough to vex a saint. She assured me she had lost at least three scruples of wax. But nobody cared in the least about her scruples."
"And what became of the poor thing in the end?" asked Thekla.
"That I can't say," replied April: "I had to come away, you know; and I left her there. One of two things, she told me, was pretty sure to happen: either her arms and legs would sober with time, or she would get so hideous from unhappiness that May's mamma would buy a new head to match them. 'Then, ah then!' said she, 'I may perhaps be allowed to go back to my beloved top-shelf in the wardrobe. Never, never will I quit it again so long as I live!' She ended with a sigh. I bade her farewell, but on the way downstairs I met a little girl coming up and calling out, 'Where dolly? me want dolly?' And I fear poor Maria was not left any longer in peace in the attic closet."
