The first few days of Sally’s sojourn in the doll’s house were full of events and also full of interest, and the little girl experienced all the new sensations that always come with a change of scene and place. Sally’s intimate and somewhat unique experience of nursery life had really taught her nothing relating to existence in the doll’s house, and the mode of living employed by the little people to whose number she now apparently belonged.
She was, indeed, very much surprised to discover that in all respects they resembled very closely the human species, with all their little fads and fancies, jealousies and ambitions; and it was both amusing and astonishing to encounter among the dolls that she herself had bought for a few cents and dressed with her own hands in scraps obtained from the rag-bag, personalities as striking and characteristic, as distinguishing as those belonging to some of the famous people whose lives she had studied with Miss Palmer during her history lessons. At least so one would think from their own opinions of themselves.
The little girl was amazed to learn that all the dolls could read and write and that those who were imported spoke French and German fluently. In fact, one small Japanese doll who was rigged out in a paper kimono and wide obi of the same material, jabbered away in Japanese, with the result that none of the others could understand a word she said. She always presided at afternoon tea, however, which function they understood very well, as also the tiny cups of the fragrant drink which she brewed for their benefit. Sally secretly resolved to teach her English, which she later accomplished, much to the gratitude of the lonely little foreigner.
The dolls’ handwriting was not at all like her own, as it did not take Sally long to discover. It consisted of a number of queer little hieroglyphics of infinitesimal size, which, as Sally afterward learned, were known only to dolls and were so small, to wit, that nobody would ever imagine that they were anything but foolish scrawling.
CHAPTER VI
THE LITTLE BACK DOOR
SALLY was busily bustling around the kitchen, clad in one of Dinah’s clean gingham aprons and with a stiff and clean bandanna ’kerchief perched on her shining hair. For Dinah was ill, the result of an unfortunate accident, for which the little girl felt herself more or less responsible.
For some time the Little Lamb had been growing “grimy, grimier and grimier,” as Sally said to herself, and the child had finally resolved, although not without some misgivings, that a bath would be the next best thing in the order of events. Having several old scores to settle, Mary joyfully offered to assist, and with such a backing Sally proceeded with her preparations in a resolute and hopeful frame of mind.