rug in front of it, propping her two little dolls against the fender.

'To-morrow,' she said to herself, 'as soon as I've made a frock for
Eleanor, I'll have a tea-party. Eleanor and Amy shall be new friends
coming to tea for the first time--if _only_ the parlour chairs weren't
too big for the table!' she sighed deeply. 'They can't look nice and
_real_, when they're so high up that their legs won't go underneath.
People don't make our tables and chairs like that--I don't see why they
can't make doll-house ones properly. Now, if I was a carpenter I'd make
a doll-house just like a real house--I could make it so nice.'

She began building doll-houses--her favourite castles in the air--in
imagination. But now and then she wanted another opinion, there were
knotty points to decide. As 'all roads,' according to the old proverb,
'lead to Rome,' so all Celestina's meditations ended in the old cry, 'If
only mother would come.'

The door opened at last--gently, so gently that the little girl knew it
could be no one else but mother. She sprang up.

'Oh, mother, I am so glad you've come. I've been so tired waiting. I do
so want to show you the cloaks and hats, and _can_ you give me a bit to
make Amy's frock? She looks so funny with a cloak and hat and no frock.'

'I will try to find you a scrap of something when I go upstairs,' mother
replied. 'But just now I must see about getting tea ready. Father is
tired already, and he has a good deal to do this evening still. Yes, you
have made the cloaks very nice, and the little hats too. I'll turn up
the gas so as to see better.'