Florence yawned, and waxed her thread.

“O, it was a splendid bridle, this man had, made of gold; and I forgot—­the mountain the horse trotted round on was called Helicon.  And the man mounted him, and went up, up, till they were nothing but specks in the sky.”

“A likely story,” said Florence; “there, you’ve told enough!  I don’t want to hear any more such nonsense.”

“Well, if you don’t want to hear about the monster they killed, you needn’t; that’s all I can say; but the young man loved that horse; and he kissed him, too, he was so splendid!”

“Kiss a horse!” Flossy looked very, much disgusted.

“Why, I’ve kissed my pony a great many times,” said Susy, bravely, “right between his eyes; and he almost kisses me.  He wants to say, ’I love you.’  I can see it in his eyes.”

By this time Flossy had finished her doll’s garment, and, putting it on the little thing’s shoulders, held up the doll to be admired.

“I think her opera cloak is very ‘bewitching,’ don’t you, Susy?  It is trimmed with ermine, because she is a queen, and is going to the opera.”

“It looks well enough,” said Susy, indifferently, “but it isn’t ermine; it’s only white cat’s fur, with black spots sewed on,”

“Of course it isn’t real ermine!” replied Florence; “but I play that it is, and it’s just as well.”

“But you know all the while it’s a make-believe.  She hasn’t any more sense than a stick of wood, either; and I don’t see any sport in playing with dolls.”

“And I don’t see any sense in fairy stories,” retorted Flossy.  “Do you know what Percy says about you?  He says your head is as full of airy notions as a dandelion top.  I love Queen Mab as if she was my own sister,” continued Flossy, in a pettish tone.  “You know I do, Susy.  I always thought, if anything should happen to Queen Mab, and I lost her, I should certainly dress in mourning; now you needn’t laugh.”

“O, I can’t help laughing, when anybody makes such a fuss over a doll,” replied Susy, with a curl of the lip.  “Anything that isn’t alive, and hasn’t any sense, and don’t care for you!  I like canary birds, and babies, and ponies, and that’s enough to like.”

“Well, now, that’s so funny!” said Florence, twitching the folds of Queen Mab’s dress into place; “for the very reason I like my doll, is because she isn’t alive.  I wouldn’t have been you, Susy Parlin, when you had your last canary bird, and let him choke to death.”

“O, no, Flossy, I didn’t let him choke:  I forgot to put any seed in the bottle, and he stuck his head in so deep, that he smothered to death.”

“I don’t know but smothering is as bad as choking,” said Florence; “and now your new bird will be sure to come to some bad end.”

“You’re always saying hateful things,” exclaimed Susy, a good deal vexed.  “I like Grace Clifford ten times as well, for she’s a great deal more lady-like.”