"It is strange," said Mr. Tom Thumb, some months after, "that I
always find now my ball of soap in its right place."

"It is because Piccolissima no longer rolls it into the corners for
a plaything," replied Mrs. Tom Thumb. "The little creature improves
--grows really intelligent."

"I am glad of it," said, a little while afterwards, one of the elder
sisters of the miniature woman; "I am no longer obliged to hunt from
place to place for my thimble and my scissors they are now always in
my work box."

"The reason is, Piccolissima does not now make a well of your
thimble, nor a spade of your scissors," answered her brother; "she
has become tiresome; she no longer frisks around me when I return
home; she has no longer any droll fancies which once amused me so
much; she is now a genuine doll; I really believe that this minikin
is putting on airs."

"Hold your peace, Monsieur," answered the busy chambermaid, in a
scolding tone, while she cleaned the runnels of a chair, upon which
the feet of the young man had left a good portion of the soil of the
garden; "I should like to see the day when you are as well behaved
as Mademoiselle Piccolissima. It was once Mademoiselle Touch-every-
thing. Six months ago, no one dared to leave a drawer in the house
open; now every thing remains quiet in its place; she is neither
more nor less than a reasonable being; she is a waxen image, I tell
you."

"Did I say any thing else, Madam Scold?" answered the school boy;