A Little Maid in Toyland

by Adah Louise Sutton

THE Teddy Bears, as one may well suppose, were no less interested in the furnishing and arrangement of the doll’s house than the members of the family themselves. They had scarcely been able to sleep a wink for thinking and talking over the subject in hand, and Peter Pan himself had proudly brought gifts, not exactly gold, frankincense and myrrh, but something much more acceptable in the shape of a wee mail-box, the very counterpart of those that hang upon the telephone posts. It had been captured during one of his predatory night raids, during which he and Bedelia had ransacked a neighboring toy store, carrying off the mail-box as Peter Pan’s share of the loot, while Bedelia joyfully abstracted a most delightful little workstand that could be shut up like a camp chair and stood against the wall if so desired, with a gorgeous yellow silk lining.

In justice to the bears, it must be said of them that they did not, in this case, break through and steal, for Peter Pan left upon the counter a piece of money, shaken down from his own little bank—a most beautiful bank in the shape of a mottled, earthenware pig, which Sally had presented to him without the smallest idea in the world that he would ever use it for legitimate purposes. But the very fact of ownership turned the Teddy Bear at once into an inveterate miser, and he hoarded like a magpie, levying on every pocketbook that his mischievous paws fell upon. He was, however, too cute to appropriate any but small coins, so that thus far nothing had been missed. Teddy Bears can scarcely be supposed to have any adequate idea of values, so when Peter Pan proudly deposited a nickel on the counter, he considered that he was paying very well for the articles chosen by himself and his wife. The piece of money was afterwards found by the shopkeeper, and as he never missed the small articles that had taken the fancy of the Teddy Bears, he considered himself a nickel in, and “As a man thinketh, so is he.”

To extract the bit of money from the bowels of the pig had been a fearful piece of work, and had it not been for the end in view, the Teddy Bear would have given up in despair. To drop a nickel into the little slot in the creature’s back, and then to listen to the delicious rattling it made in the cavernous interior was one thing, but to fish it out through that narrow aperture was quite another. Anyone who has ever tried the experiment will appreciate the dreadful quarter of an hour that ensued as the Teddy Bears, perspiring in every pore, struggled with that most niggardly of china pigs.

First they essayed to fish out the coin, using successively a hair-pin bent out straight and one end fashioned into a hook, a buttonhook, a pair of manicure scissors, ruining the curved points, a crochet needle, and nurse’s best hat-pin. Nothing, however, availed. The pig, like his predecessor in the story that would not jump over the stile, would not give up the coveted coin. Finally Bedelia seized it by its head and shook it frantically, literally as the oft quoted terrier shakes the rat. But no nickel! To be sure, they could have smashed the pig, but in spite of his obstinacy he was the Teddy Bear’s chief treasure, and Peter Pan loved his mottled exterior and gloried in his impossible snout and extremely unpiglike ears. He could not bring himself to sacrifice a thing so cherished, even on the altar of his love for Sally.

After a while the bears desisted from their efforts and held a council of war. Peter Pan had about come to the end of his tether when suddenly his eyes, roaming miserably about in search of some new weapon of offense, fell upon something that caused him to utter a little shriek of delight. And the article was nothing more nor less than a stick of chewing gum. Now the Teddy Bear knew all about gum. He had tried to chew some once and had been obliged to beg help from Sally, so closely were his jaws welded together. She had laughingly pried them open, and had advised him not to bite off more than he could chew in the future.

Peter Pan did not intend to bite off anything in this case. He put one end of the gum in his mouth and chewed on it till his jaws ached, and then passed it on to Bedelia, who repeated the performance. And in two shakes of a lamb’s tail the end of the stick of gum was reduced to a mass of stickiness that rivaled fly-paper. Peter Pan now turned the bank, that is, the pig on its back so that the coins within it came rattling down over the opening. He next carefully inserted the chewed end of the gum, using the unchewed portion as a handle by which to propel it into the aperture, and presently drew it triumphantly forth with two dimes and a nickel sticking to the mass. Great were the rejoicings at the success of the trick, and Peter Pan, supposing that the nickel was much the more valuable as it was greater in size than the dimes, laid it aside while he returned the other coins to the bank. Afterward he explained the whole performance to Sally, who was very glad indeed to hear it, for at first she had been somewhat doubtful as to the origin of her delightful mail-box.

Meanwhile the furnishing and arranging went merrily on, and Sally sighed in delighted rapture as she contemplated the work of her hands and found that it was very good.

Her drawing-room she thought was her especial delight, all done in red velvet, with a splendid red carpet and lace curtains at the windows, over which hung draperies of red silk. A tall pier glass stood between the windows, and on the mantel-shelf were a gilt clock under a glass case, and two gilt candlesticks holding real wax candles. Underneath, in the grate, a glowing flame of crimson tinfoil shone comfortably, tinfoil being the fuel universally accepted for grates in doll houses.

A fine center table, marble-topped, occupied the middle of the room. The chairs were luxurious, and Sally only wished that her size were compatible with nestling down on one of them.