Then perhaps she fainted with horror, for the next thing she was aware of was being clasped in the arms of a little girl, nearly the same age as her beloved little mistress, but ah! how different in all but age!--a little red-haired girl, clean and tidy, to be sure, but with what patched and faded clothes, what little red rough hands, what a loud voice, and what an accent! Neither Miss Tudor's nerves nor her temper could stand it. She made her back far stiffer than nature and Mr. Creamer had ever intended it to be, and refused all comfort. In fact, did what in a less distinguished and high-bred doll would have been called sulking; and little Norah at last left her in despair, with a sorrowful sigh. It really was not for three days after this that she came out of her--well, yes, sulks; and that was because she was disturbed by a terrible noise of sobbing and crying. "Och, thin, don't ye now, Norah--don't ye. It's no mortal use, I tell ye; we'll have to go to prison, and that's the blessed truth. My lady's grand lace handkerchief, and it's worth three guineas or more; and the housekeeper says as it's never come home, and I'll swear I sint it; and how iver are we to pay at all, at all?" Now Miss Plantagenet Tudor had by no means a bad heart; she felt really sorry to see such distress. However, it was no business of hers, and she was just going off into her dignified gloom again, when her blue eyes spied something thin, white, and lace-like under the edge of the big chest in the corner. There was the missing handkerchief, the cause of all this woe. Should she show it to them, and make the poor things happy? Yes, she would; she knew Ethel would, if she were there. And so, with the lofty grace which was all her own, Miss Sophonisba Sylvia Plantagenet Tudor fell flat, face downward, upon the floor, with one stiff arm stuck out straight before her. Norah rushed to pick her up, and as she stooped she too saw the handkerchief, and clutched at it. * * * * * "La, Miss Ethel," said the little school-room maid, "there's such a funny tale Mrs. O'Flannigan's been telling in the kitchen. I know you'd like to hear it--it's about a doll." "Oh, Susan, I don't think I can bear to hear about dolls to-night. Who's Mrs. O'Flannigan?" "The washer-woman, miss; and she lost your ma's best pocket-handkerchief, and very likely would have had to gone to prison, and been hung" (oh, Susan! Susan! that was a dreadful stretch of imagination on your part), "only her little girl Norah's doll fell down, and when they picked it up it was a-pointing in the corner, and there was the pocket-handkerchief; and Norah she says she's sure she done it a purpose." "Why, of course she must have. What a dear delightful doll! I think, Susan, really, that I should like to see her. May I?" "La, miss, of course you may. I'll tell Mrs. O'Flannigan to bring her."