little girl, and that you have a real mamma and a make-believe mamma."
"Shall I sleep with you?" demanded Amy,
"Yes, in that bed over there."
"It's a pretty bed," pronounced Amy after examining it gravely for a moment. "Will you tell me a story every morning?"
"If you don't wake me up too early. My stories are always sleepy till seven o'clock. Let us see what Ellen has packed in that bag, and then I'll give you some drawers of your own, and we will put the things away."
The bag was full of neat little frocks and underclothes stuffed hastily in all together. Katy took them out, smoothing the folds, and crimping the tumbled ruffles with her fingers. As she lifted the last skirt, Amy, with a cry of joy, pounced on something that lay beneath it.
"It is Maria Matilda," she said, "I'm glad of that. I thought Ellen would forget her, and the poor child would n't know what to do with me and her little sister not coming to see her for so long. She was having the
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