Just then Ann's sharp eyes caught Peter as he was about to slip away with a little parcel done up in silver paper that had lain all by itself at the very bottom of the box. By this time she and Rudolf had both forgotten that they had no more right than Peter to any of the things in the box, and both threw themselves on their little brother. Peter fought and kicked, but was at last forced to surrender the little parcel. Under the silver paper which Rudolf hurriedly tore off, was layer after layer of pink tissue infolding something which the boy, when he came to it at last, tossed on the floor in his disgust. "Pshaw," he exclaimed, "it's nothing in the world but an old corn-cob!" "Yes, it is, too," said Ann, picking it up. "It's a doll, the funniest old doll I ever saw!" And a strange little doll she was, made out of nothing more or less than a withered corn-cob, her face--such a queer little face--painted on it, and her hair and dress made very cleverly out of the corn shucks. Ann burst out laughing as she looked at the old doll, and turning to her new children, Marie-Louise and Angelina-Elfrida, which her mother had given her for Christmas, she placed the two beauties on the hearth-rug, one on each side of the corn-cob, just to see the difference. This seemed to make Peter very cross. He tried his best to snatch away the old doll, but Rudolf, to tease him, held him off with one hand while with the other he seized the poor creature by her long braids and swung her slowly over the fire. "Wouldn't it be fun, Ann," said he, "to see how quick she'd burn?" "Oh, you mustn't, Rudolf," Ann cried, "Aunt Jane mightn't like it. I shouldn't be surprised if she'd punish you."