“Well they told me last night at the Palace that they were afraid she had a mump.”
“What is that?”
“Why, you know all about that, don’t you? You have had mumps yourself—several of them. If a doll has more than one it is generally fatal. But I quite hope that the Queen has not got any; and if she is better I am sure she would like to see you. You asked what she was like. Well, she is wax, of course, and she is about a hundred years old, or perhaps a thousand, or a million, but quite as beautiful as ever. She was one of the first wax dolls ever born, and they made her Queen because they admired her so.”
“Is there an elective monarchy in Toyland?” asked Peggy, who had got on quite a long way in history.
Wooden did not seem to understand the question fully, but she answered in her soothing voice, “No, dear, all the animals are tame; you need not be afraid of any of them.”
They drove on towards the sea, and when they got within sight of it Peggy cried out, and clapped her hands with pleasure.
For the sea was full of boats crowded with dolls all going to the Island. It was the prettiest sight. There were hundreds of toy yachts with their white sails, steam-boats and motor-boats and clockwork boats and rowing boats, and even boats made of paper, and walnut shells. The sun was shining brightly on this gay scene, and the water was as calm as possible, so that there was no chance of anybody being seasick.
“Why, they are all going over to the Island!” said Peggy. “Are we going there, too?”
“Oh, yes,” said Wooden. “The Island is Toyland; I forgot that you didn’t know that. That is where all the dolls live. Those who are finished with your world live there always, and the others go there every night. At least it is night with you, but of course it is day with us. And when it is day with you it is night with us.”
“Like Australia,” suggested Peggy.