There followed a second play, and this time the actors were cunning rabbits with pointed ears and furry faces. They wore gingham dresses or trousers and acted much like real boys and girls. All over the theatre the children laughed aloud when a naughty boy rabbit got himself wet and Mother Rabbit hung him to dry on a line behind the kitchen stove. But it was the grown-ups who laughed when the postman came with a letter, for the postman was a turtle, and turtles, you know, never move very fast. Lucy and Dora enjoyed every minute. They could have watched the marionettes for hours and were sorry when it was over. Miss Chandler knew some of the people who managed the puppets, so she took the children behind the scenes. They were astonished to find that Jack was a small doll, and that the giant was only as large as Lucy’s biggest one. Because everything on the stage was made just the proper size for the puppets, it seemed as though they were really as large as living people. The girls who managed the puppets were dressed in knickerbockers and stood on planks raised above the stage. One of them showed Lucy and Dora exactly how she held Jack, and how by pulling one string or another, she could make him walk across the stage, or raise his arms, or turn his head. It seemed wonderful to the children, and, indeed, it _was_ wonderful. After the play they ate supper at a place called a dairy lunch, with nice milk and butter and white shiny tiled walls. But here there was no music. “Now we will go home,” said Miss Chandler. “I am sure you have seen enough for to-day.” Another electric car took them where Miss Chandler lived. On the fifth floor of a tall building, she had three rooms which were called an apartment. The first was a living-room, with a big table and a lamp and comfortable chairs and many books. There was one bedroom and a tiny bathroom with a tub for short people. Lastly was a sort of cupboard where there was a gas plate and some pretty dishes. This, Miss Chandler said, was called a kitchenette, because it was too small to be a real kitchen. Lucy and Dora were pleased with this name. They knew now that they had used a kitchenette at the beach. The suit-case was there before them and on Miss Chandler’s bureau was the rosebud cushion. She had liked it very much. The children were tired enough to go to bed early, but they did wonder where they were to sleep, for the bedroom contained only one bed, and it was altogether too narrow for more than one person. Three would be a tight fit. Miss Chandler moved some books from the mantel in the living-room. She pulled a knob. The whole front of the mantel came down and there was a deep box with a mattress. “This is a folding-bed,” said Miss Chandler. “Did you ever sleep in one?” “Never,” said Dora. “Will it shut up while we are in it?” asked Lucy doubtfully.