"How funny the box smells--and the toys, too!" Ann said. "Sort of
queer and yet sweet, like mother's glove case. I think she said it was
sandal-wood. That set must have been a darling when it was new, but
there's only just a speck of blue left and the gilt is every bit gone.
These must be Aunt Jane's toys that she had when she was little."

"That was a long time ago," remarked Rudolf thoughtfully. "I don't see
why Aunt Jane didn't throw 'em away, they're awful trash, I think.
Those soldiers aren't bad, but--"

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