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* ^ 1 9 00 *°9 DOLLS. Take the Doll out of child-life and you h^ve a garden without flowers. My little girl has seven dolls; consequently I have flowersatall times. "I ^ g “ Sometimes they are the good old fashioned kinds ; lark- 9 .par, four-oldotks, atfen. At o^Jber. tin^s they are rare blooms; an orchid, a century plant or a sport carnation <;ould not be more- delicious. My ljttje j prl waa playing with Helen, . neighbor’• child, who« brother had juat died , of cerebrospinal meningitis. Their.doll. were.tick. “WJth what?” parked, “Oh «*L Parian*. don had V,#pt^”,«»i t ,*f*rlet %er, which, _rict,wa« announced on thenuneiy.door by apart wonderfully printed and inserted ingeoipudy into the track by the hinge, «o that it stood out straight into the hall. When I next came upatria, the doorknob wa. draped with white .trip, of scrim and the ypaqgrtjert. were having a funeral service. Barbara*, dpi! waa repjmng in.an envelope box, while Helen's was crowded rather uncom- fortably into a cigar box. “ Now I lay me down to sleep** wa. mournfullyrepeated- beside htch, victim, A. they knelt there I believe they wete almost ready to mb, so real was their jpjayr. Then thjey bppedthrjn j one in the.down-town cemetery (the back pprlor, behind papa*, dadc) and the other in the up-town cemetery, up in the attic in an old trunk. An hour lafcr they werehaving a » par*y—including doU» dressed in theirbcate I said I was inrpriaed, " I