There were the
"Rollo" books, and the "Little Prudy" books, and "Minnie and Her
Pets," and the "Elm Island" series, and the "Arabian Nights," with
colored pictures, and There were skates all curled up at the toes,
and balls of red and black leather in alternate quarters, and China
mugs, with "Love the Giver," and "For a Good Boy" in gilt letters
on them. Kind of Dutch letters they were. And there were dolls
with black, shiny hair, and red cheeks, and blue eyes, with
perfectly arched eyebrows. They had on black shoes and white
stockings, with pink garters, and they almost always toed in a
little. They looked so cold in the window with nothing but a
"shimmy" on,, and fairly ached to be dressed, and nursed, and sung
to. The little girls outside the window felt an emptiness in the
hollow of their left arms as they gazed. There was one big doll in
the middle all dressed up. It had real hair that you could comb,
and it was wax. Pure wax! Yes, sir. And it could open and shut
its eyes, and if you squeezed its stomach it would cry, of course,
not like a real baby, but more like one of those ducks that stand
on a sort of bellows thing. Though they all "chose" that doll and
hoped for miracles, none of them really expected to find it in her
stocking sixteen days later. (They kept count of the days.
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