“Now let’s hear from Miss Citron. She sounds very sweet and good.”

“And I am sweet and good, too,” said the doll with the large green head, gorgeously gowned in purple.

“I grow in Spain.” Here she sat down on the top of the globe and rolled over and over till she reached that spot where she was to be found, then rose and continued:

“My tree has an upright smooth trunk with a branchy head rising from five to fifteen feet, adorned with large oval spear-shaped leaves. See, my hat is made of one. Isn’t it chic?” and she placed the odd hat on her head and paraded about for a moment.

“Don’t mistake me for a PathÉ Moving Picture fashion show, please, for I never aspired to anything higher than fruit cake and pastries.

“My fruit is different from the lemon in that it has no knob at the top and the rind is much thicker. My tree has purple blossoms that are white inside. The seeds of the fruit are bitter. After they are taken out I am cut in half and dried in sugar and make a delicious confection.

“I am sorry my story is short, but that is really all there is to tell.”

“Very good, indeed, and now we will hear from the ballet girls, Orange and Lemon, who seem in a flutter to tell their tales,” announced Mr. Cinnamon Stick.

The Orange and Lemon Dolls now came forward, and after a sweeping bow danced like fairies about the hearth, their orange and yellow skirts fluffing about their tiny feet.

“Opera glasses! Opera glasses!” shouted one.

“All music and words of the opera here,” sang another.

“Standing room only,” cried another.