boarded up, while a crowd of common dolls stood about in front of the
door, muttering angrily.

But now the business part of the town was left behind, and the
children were being driven through street after street of gaily
painted, neatly built, little houses with gardens full of tiny
bright-colored flowers, stables, garages--everything complete that the
heart of the most exacting doll in the world could desire. Ann and
Peter were quite wild about it all, and even Rudolf condescended to
admire. Now the houses were left behind and they entered a little
park, where tiny artificial lakes glittered and stiff little trees
were set about on the bright green grass. In the center of this park
stood the doll palace. It was pure white, finished in gold, and had
real glass windows in it, and white marble steps leading up to it, and
high gilded gates where a guard of soldiers turned out to present
arms, and a band was beginning to play. The rest of the procession
turned in at the gates of the palace, but rather to the children's
disappointment, the Queen gave their coachman orders to drive on.

"You may see my palace afterward, if we have time," she said, "but I
want to take you first of all to see my dear old home where I used to
live when I was a girl, when the little mother took care of me."

The children looked at one another. Then Peter said boldly: "Was that
when you were Aunt Jane's doll? You weren't a Queen _then_, were
you?"

"No, indeed," answered her majesty, smiling. "I was just an ugly
little doll, the happiest, best-loved little doll in all the world,
and with the dearest little mother. But here we are, and you shall see