'To-morrow,' she said to herself, 'as soon as I've made a frock for Eleanor, I'll have a tea-party. Eleanor and Amy shall be new friends coming to tea for the first time--if _only_ the parlour chairs weren't too big for the table!' she sighed deeply. 'They can't look nice and _real_, when they're so high up that their legs won't go underneath. People don't make our tables and chairs like that--I don't see why they can't make doll-house ones properly. Now, if I was a carpenter I'd make a doll-house just like a real house--I could make it so nice.' She began building doll-houses--her favourite castles in the air--in imagination. But now and then she wanted another opinion, there were knotty points to decide. As 'all roads,' according to the old proverb, 'lead to Rome,' so all Celestina's meditations ended in the old cry, 'If only mother would come.' The door opened at last--gently, so gently that the little girl knew it could be no one else but mother. She sprang up. 'Oh, mother, I am so glad you've come. I've been so tired waiting. I do so want to show you the cloaks and hats, and _can_ you give me a bit to make Amy's frock? She looks so funny with a cloak and hat and no frock.' 'I will try to find you a scrap of something when I go upstairs,' mother replied. 'But just now I must see about getting tea ready. Father is tired already, and he has a good deal to do this evening still. Yes, you have made the cloaks very nice, and the little hats too. I'll turn up the gas so as to see better.' Celestina gave in without a murmur to waiting till after tea for the piece of stuff she longed for so ardently, and she set to work in a neat, handy way to help her mother with the tea-table. They understood each other perfectly, these two, though few words of endearment passed between them, and caresses were rare. People were somewhat colder in manner at that time than nowadays perhaps; much petting of children was not thought good for them, and especially in the case of an only child, parents had great fear of 'spoiling.' But no one who looked at Mrs. Fairchild's sweet face as her eyes rested lovingly on her little girl could have doubted for a moment her intense affection. She had a very sweet face; Celestina thought there never could be anybody prettier than mother, and I don't know that she was far wrong. If she ever thought of herself at all--of her looks especially--it was to hope that some day she might grow up to be 'like mother.' Tea was ready--neatly arranged on the table, though all was of the plainest, a little carefully-made toast to tempt father's uncertain appetite the only approach to luxury--when Mr. Fairchild came in and sat down in the one arm-chair rather wearily. He was a tall thin man, and he stooped a good deal. He had a kindly though rather nervous and careworn face and bright intelligent eyes.