The dining-room door opened softly, and a fresh, pretty-looking nursery-maid stepped in, saying

“Is Miss ’Toinette ready to come up stairs, ma’am?”

Yes, Susan.  You may take the bracelets, pet; but, when you go out, leave them in the drawer of your bureau.”

“Yes, mamma.  Good-by, mamma and papa; and don’t forget my little wife, papa.”

“I won’t forget, Sunshine,” said Mr. Legrange, laughing, as he followed the child and nurse to the door, and watched them up stairs.

CHAPTER II.

The little wife.

Three o’clock came at last, although ’Toinette had become fully persuaded it never would; and the little guests arrived as punctually as juvenile guests are apt to arrive.  Later on in life, people either expect less pleasure from meeting each other, or are more willing to defer securing it; or perhaps it is that they are willing to allow their friends the first chance of appropriating the happiness in store for all.  If none of these, what is the reason, children, that, at grown parties, the struggle is to see who shall arrive last, while at ours it is to see who shall come first?

’Toinette was dressed, and in the drawing-room ready to receive her little friends, by half-past two; and very nice she looked in her light-blue merino frock, with its pretty embroideries, her long golden hair curled in the feathery ringlets Susan was so proud of making, her sleeves looped up with new bracelets, and a little embroidered handkerchief just peeping out of her pockets

Mrs. Legrange, who sat reading by the fire, watched with some amusement and more anxiety the movements of the little beauty, who walked slowly up and down the room, twisting her head to look now at one shoulder and now at the other, now at the flow of her skirts behind, and now at the dainty fit of her bronze cloth gaiter-boots.  At last, stopping before the long mirror, Miss ’Toinette began practicing the courtesy she had learned at dancing-school, finishing by throwing a kiss from the tips of her fingers to the graceful little shadow in the mirror.

“She will be spoiled, entirely spoiled, before she is a year older,” thought the mother anxiously.  “She is so beautiful! and every one tells her of it.  What shall I do?”

But sometimes, when our task seems too difficult for us, God takes it into his own hand, and does it in his own way, though that way to us be strange and painful.

While Mrs. Legrange still hesitated whether to speak, and what to say, the doorbell rang, and ’Toinette rushed away to meet her friends, and take them to the dressing room, where they were to leave their outside garments; and the mother laid aside her book, and prepared to help in entertaining the little people.

Another ring at the bell; another troop of little feet, and peal of merry voices; another and another; and, following the last, a firmer step upon the stair, and the appearance in the drawing-room of a tall, fine-looking young man, of twenty two or three years old, who came forward, offering his hand to Mrs. Legrange.