I do not think we cared so much for other dolls, yet there were some that must be mentioned. Vashti Ann was named for a cook; she belonged to Julia, and I have an idea that she was of a very haughty and disagreeable temper, though I cannot remember her personal appearance. Still more shadowy is my recollection of Eliza Viddipock,--a name to be spoken with bated breath. What dark crime this wretched doll had committed to merit her fearful fate, I do not know; it was a thing not to be spoken of to the younger children, apparently. But I do know that she was hanged, with all solemnity of judge and hangman. It seems unjust that I should have forgotten the name of Julia’s good doll, who died, and had the cover of the sugar-bowl buried with her, as a tribute to her virtues. Sally Bradford and Clara both belonged to Laura. Sally was an india-rubber doll; Clara, a doll with a china head of the old-fashioned kind, smooth, shining black hair, brilliant rosy cheeks, and calm (very calm) blue eyes. I prefer this kind of doll to any other. Clara’s life was an uneventful one, on the whole, and I remember only one remarkable thing in it. A little girl in the neighborhood invited Laura to a dolls’ party on a certain day: she was to bring Clara by special request. Great was the excitement, for Laura was very small, and had never yet gone to a party. A seamstress was in the house making the summer dresses, and our mother said that Clara should have a new frock for the party. It seemed a very wonderful thing to have a real new white muslin frock, made by a real seamstress, for one’s beloved doll. Clara had a beautiful white neck, so the frock was made low and trimmed with lace. When the afternoon came, Laura brought some tiny yellow roses from the greenhouse, and the seamstress sewed them on down the front of the frock and round the neck and hem. It is not probable that any other doll ever looked so beautiful as Clara when her toilet was complete. Then Laura put on her own best frock, which was not one half so fine, and tied on her gray felt bonnet, trimmed with quillings of pink and green satin ribbon, and started off, the proudest and happiest child in the whole world. She reached the house (it was very near) and climbed up the long flight of stone steps, and stood on tiptoe to ring the bell,--then waited with a beating heart. Would there be many other dolls? Would any of them be half so lovely as Clara? Would there--dreadful thought!--would there be big girls there? The door opened. If any little girls read this they will now be very sorry for Laura. There was no dolls’ party! Rosy’s mother (the little girl’s name was Rosy) had heard nothing at all about it; Rosy had gone to spend the afternoon with Sarah Crocker. “Sorry, little girl! What a pretty dolly! Good-by, dear!” and then the door was shut again.