Rebecca Mary came over to bring Aunt Olivia's rule for parson-cake
that the minister's wife had asked for.

"Come in, Rebecca Mary," the minister's wife said, cordially.
"Don't you want to see the new dress Rhoda's doll is going to have?
I suppose you could make your doll's dress yourself?" It seemed
a hard thing to say. Feeling round was not pleasant.

"P'haps I could, but she doesn't wear dresses," Rebecca Mary
answered, gravely.

"No?" This was puzzling. "Her clothes don't come off, I suppose?"
Then it could not be the nice, friendly doll.

"No'm. Nor they don't go on, either. She isn't a feel doll."

"A--what kind did you say, dear?" The minister's wife paused in
her work interestedly. Distinctly, Miss Olivia had not given her
THE doll; but this doll--"I don't think I quite understood,
Rebecca Mary."

"No'm; it's a little hard. She isn't a FEEL doll, I said. I never
had a feel one. Mine hasn't any body, just a soul. But she's a
great comfort."

"Robert," appealed the minister's wife, helplessly. This was a case
for the minister--a case of souls.

"Tell us some more about her, Rebecca Mary," the minister urged,