to-night! Oh, the _lesson_! Oh, I wasn't _meant_ for this! I wasn't meant for it! When I remember last Sunday's sermon, and how straight to my heart it went--oh, I am a fool to cry! Come here to me, dear child. What is your name? What? A little louder! What did you say? Tibbie! Oh, what a nice, funny name!" Mrs. Darling smiled through her tears, pathetically hiccoughing and sighing while she spoke. "_You_ didn't think I was going to scold you, did you, dear? Of _course_ not! It was an accident; I understand all about it. I used to break my dolls' heads frequently, I remember very well--" Mrs. Darling had put her arm endearingly around Tibbie, and tried to make the child's head easy on her shoulder. But poor Tibbie's muscles could not relax; her stiff little face rested uncomfortably, without pressing, upon its warm alabaster prop. "Let us see, dear, now, what we can do to make us both feel happier. I dressed all those dolls for little children I am not acquainted with at all. Which of them should you like the very best? Which should you like for your very own?" Tibbie could neither make herself move nor speak; but the tail of her eye travelled towards the dolls. "The bride!" Sally took the liberty of saying, beaming as she came to Tibbie's aid. "The bride? Which one is that? That one? Of course!" Mrs. Darling reached for the resplendent favorite and placed her in Tibbie's hands. "There, my dear." Tibbie took the doll loosely, without breath of thanks; but while Mrs. Darling reviewed the dolls, her hand went out involuntarily towards the broken one. Mrs. Darling saw it. "Of course," she said--"of course, you would want that poor dollie to nurse back to health. Now, dear, isn't there _one more_ you would like?" At this Tibbie's confusion seemed likely to overwhelm and swamp her. "I'll choose one for you," said Mrs. Darling, "and you shall call her Cynthia, after me. How would you like that? Suppose we say this one, with the forget-me-nots? She looks a little like me, doesn't she, with her hair parted in the middle? Her frock is made of a piece of one of my own, and that blue is my favorite color. There, Tibbie, now you have two whole dollies and part of another. You must run right home to bed. A Merry Christmas to you, dear child. I am very happy to have made your acquaintance." The exuberant Sally talked like a clock gone mad all the way home through the clear wintry night; and since she felt inclined to conversation, it was well she could keep one up alone, for Tibbie, who trotted beside her, holding fast her dolls, did not utter a single word. THE PASSING OF SPRING