There she spent a melancholy day indeed, for she had no means of amusing herself to make time pass lightly on: she had no pleasure in reading, so that all the pretty books which had been bought for her were of no use; she could not play with her doll, for it had no clothes, they were all lost or burnt; and she had suffered a little puppy to play with her work-bag, till both that and the work which was in it, thread-case, cotton, and every thing else were all torn to pieces. The only thing she found to do, was to sit down by the window, look at the road and cry, till her brothers and sisters returned, and then she had the mortification of hearing them recount the pleasure they had enjoyed, talk of the curiosities their grandpapa had shewn them in the great closet at the end of the gallery, and of seeing all the pretty things they had brought home with them, and of which she might have had her share if she had been of their party.