Peggy in Toyland

by Archibald Marshall

Peggy had been rather surprised that the dolls had not shown more grief at the sudden death of the Queen, though all of them had certainly spoken very nicely about it when the news had first come to them, and were evidently sorry that she had died. But she now began to understand that dolls do not take things in quite the same way as human beings. For one thing, there were no signs of mourning in the streets, but on the other hand there were flags on some of the houses, and all the people seemed to be out of doors watching for the royal procession, and when it appeared they cheered heartily, and seemed as happy and pleased as possible. This was all the more remarkable because, if what the Lord Chancellor had said was true, which of course it was, as he would never have told a lie, all the wax dolls in the place had already been sent off to prison, and you might have thought that that would have sobered the rest. But even the four dolls in the carriage seemed to have forgotten it, and also the unpleasant episode of Lady Grace nearly being taken off to prison, too. They were all anxious to point out to Peggy the interesting sights to be seen on either side of them, and had nothing to say about anything else, not even about what might happen when they arrived at the royal palace. And as they seemed able to forget everything but the pleasure and interest of the moment, Peggy was able to do so, too.

What she saw of Dolltown enchanted her. It was like all the toys she had ever had, and her friends had had, and she had seen in shop-windows, all become real, and not only that, but of a size to be used. All little girls know what it is to wish that they could sometimes live in their own dolls’ houses, especially in the big ones, where there are staircases that they could go up and down if only they were of the right size, and all sorts of nice furniture, and dinner-sets and tea-sets, and other things which they would like to use themselves and not always be making believe with. Well, in Dolltown, and in fact in the whole of Toyland, there was no making believe. Everything was as real as real, even the smallest things for the smallest dolls. Peggy could have used everything she saw herself, and it was really quite thrilling and delightful to feel that she could pretend to be a doll if she wanted to, and have all the fun for herself that little girls give to their dolls.

Just outside the royal quay was a large station, with platforms and signal boxes and bridges and lines of rails all complete, and a train waiting there with a bright green clockwork engine, ready to go off into the country. One of Peggy’s boy cousins had collected a splendid railway plant—his relations always gave him things for it at Christmas and on his birthdays—and Peggy had often wished she could go for a ride in it all round his playroom floor, and be shunted and go under the little tunnels, and stop at the stations, just as the tin soldiers he put into the carriages did. Well, it would be just as much fun going in this railway system, and she could get into the toy carriages just as easily as her cousin’s tin soldiers.

They crossed over the river on one of those suspension bridges that you see in shop-windows, and then climbed a hill into the town. At the beginning of the hill was a large toy fort, crammed with tin soldiers, who were looking over the parapet and cheering them as they passed.

Then they went through a street of shops, and the joints of meat hanging in the butchers’ shops, and the fish lying on the slabs of the fishmongers’ shops, and the stores in the grocery shops were all real; and specially attractive were the highly-coloured fruits.

As for the shops where they sold the baby-clothes, they were too delightful. But the first one they passed brought a most disturbing thought to Peggy. She turned to Wooden and said, “Oh, Wooden, dear, where are all the long-clothes babies! Surely they haven’t been cruel enough to send them to prison, too!”

“Oh, no, dear,” said Wooden decidedly. “Nobody is cruel in Toyland.”

Peggy did not feel quite so sure of that, considering that Lady Grace had nearly been sent to prison already for being wax; and of course most long-clothes babies are wax, or composition. “Then where are they!” she asked.

“They are all having their morning sleep, dear,” said Wooden’s mother, and Peggy had to be content.

When they reached the more important streets of Dolltown, most of the houses were built of wooden or terra-cotta bricks, and very fine some of them were. But this part of the town was rather silent and deserted, for the owners of most of the fine houses were wax, and they had all been taken off to prison.