she wouldn't see them; they would kiss her with soft, light kisses, and
she wouldn't know.

She thought: To-night I'll stay awake and see them. But she never did.
Only once she dreamed that she heard footsteps and saw the lighted candle,
going out of the room; going, going away.

The blue egg stood on the marble top of the cabinet where you could see it
from everywhere; it was supported by a gold waistband, by gold hoops and
gold legs, and it wore a gold ball with a frill round it like a crown. You
would never have guessed what was inside it. You touched a spring in its
waistband and it flew open, and then it was a workbox. Gold scissors and
thimble and stiletto sitting up in holes cut in white velvet.

The blue egg was the first thing she thought of when she came into the
room. There was nothing like that in Connie Hancock's Papa's house. It
belonged to Mamma.

Harriett thought: If only she could have a birthday and wake up and find
that the blue egg belonged to _her_----

Ida, the wax doll, sat on the drawing-room sofa, dressed ready for the
birthday. The darling had real person's eyes made of glass, and real
eyelashes and hair. Little finger and toenails were marked in the wax, and
she smelt of the lavender her clothes were laid in.

But Emily, the new birthday doll, smelt of composition and of gum and hay;
she had flat, painted hair and eyes, and a foolish look on her face, like
Nurse's aunt, Mrs. Spinker, when she said "Lawk-a-daisy!" Although Papa
had given her Emily, she could never feel for her the real, loving love