spread the ink all around, and made big splotches of it. Oh, my! Excuse
me while I laugh!" he cried, and he wiggled and twisted around on the
bottom of the drawer, laughing in whispers at the funny look on the face
of the Cotton Doll.

"You're too mean for anything!" said the Doll to the Monkey, and she was
almost ready to cry. But she happened to think that if she shed any
tears they would wash down through the ink on her cheeks and make her
look queerer than ever. So she did not cry.

"I'm never going to speak to you again, so there!" exclaimed the Cotton
Doll, and she would have stamped her foot if there had been room for her
to stand up in the desk drawer--which there wasn't. So she just banged
her heels on the bottom of it.

"Oh, I'll be good!" promised the Monkey. "I won't put any more ink on
you, and I'll see if I can get some of it off on this piece of blotting
paper. I blotted my tail on it."

He tried to clean the Doll's face, but, by this time, the ink had dried,
and you know how hard it is to get dried ink off your fingers after you
have written a letter. Well, it was this way with the Cotton Doll. The
ink stayed on her face.

"Well, if you have ink on your face I've also got some on the end of my
tail, where I dipped it into the bottle," said the Monkey chap, thinking
to cheer up the Doll by this.

"Yes, but the ink doesn't show on your brown tail as it does on my white
face," said the Doll. "However, there is no use crying over spilled