“Now will my cousin, Miss Allspice, please step forward and tell her story.”

This dear little doll timidly made her way back of the speaker, and, holding shyly to her skirt, peeped out, and said in low tones:

“I am just a small round berry from the Pimento. A wee evergreen tree that grows on the limestone hills, on the Islands of the West Indies.

“We are about the size of a pea, gathered in August, and dried in the sun for several days. The stems are then taken off and we are packed in a bag and sent to America.

“There such a thing happened to us as you would never believe possible. We were turned out of the bags, looking like a lot of dried hard peas. We were so happy to be at the end of our journey, and see daylight again.

“We smiled up at the blue sky as we merrily rolled out of the sacks, but, alas, our joy was only for a moment, as we found ourselves turned into a grinder of some sort. Suddenly we heard a whizzing sound, and there we had turned from peas into a fine powder.

“They named us Allspice because we have the flavour of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, and everybody loves us.”

Out of breath, the modest little creature completely vanished in Clove’s skirt, blown there by the applause which now filled the room.

“Well done!” cried the Stick Doll. “You mean a lot if you are small. Now I think we should hear from the Nutmeg, since spice seems to hold our attention at present.”