This was more than the mother thought right to give for the doll; and she told the man so, very politely. He was a very wise man, and what is more and better, kept a toy shop, because he loved children dearly; so he put his head on one side, and thought; then he looked out of the corner of his eye at the lady, and saw what a pleasant, sweet expression was on her face; then he thought again—this time, how disappointed the sweet little girl at home would be, if she knew her mother was out looking for a doll for her, and came home without one; and then he said, "What do you think the doll is worth?"
Lillie's mother told him what she considered a fair price, and the darling, good toyman spoke up as quick as a flash, "You shall have it, ma'am! Here, John, put this doll in paper, and take it to 'No. 13 Clinton Place.'"
Helen's Return Home.
Lillie's sister Helen was going to spend the summer with her dear grandmamma in Middletown. A splendid idea came into the kind mother's head. Taking Helen into a room alone, she said, "My dear, you will want some sewing to do, while you are away; suppose you take the beautiful doll and make up several suits of clothes for her, just as neatly as possible. I am sure your grandmamma will help you; and when you return, we will have a delightful surprise for Lillie." The darling, good sister, was just as pleased as possible with this plan: indeed, she had not got past liking to play with dolls herself; and she was very different from some elder sisters, who take an unamiable pleasure in teasing the younger ones, instead of joining in their plays, and doing everything to add to their happiness. So the doll and all sorts of pretty muslins and silks, and materials for under garments, were mysteriously packed away in Helen's trunk, and she went off to her grandmother's pleasant country house, without Lillie's having the slightest suspicion of what she was going to do. She was very busy all summer making the clothes, with her grandmamma's help. Many of the pleasant mornings she sat on the steps of the door, listening to the singing of the birds as she sewed.
And now this is a very good place to tell you about Lillie and her sisters; for she had three dear sisters—Helen, Mary, and sweet little Maggie; and no brother at all. The only one she ever had, went to live with Jesus in heaven, after staying only fifteen months here in this world.
You know already what a kind mother the children had; and I am very certain their papa loved them just as much. When he is with them, his dark, bright, and piercing eyes droop and soften into an expression of so much affection, that one day, when I was visiting at his house, I caught myself repeating the words of a perfect little poem, which seemed to have been written expressly for him. It is so beautiful, and describes the children so well, with the change of one or two words, that I have ventured to copy it here for you. It was written by Gerald Massey.
"There be four maidens; four loving maidens;
Four bonny maidens, mine;
Four precious jewels are set in Life's crown,
On prayer-lifted brows to shine.
Eight starry eyes, all love-luminous,
Look out of our heaven so tender;
Since the honeymoon glowing and glorious
Arose in its ripening splendor.
"There's Lillie bell, the duchess of wonderland,
With her dance of life, dimples and curls;
Whose bud of a mouth into sweet kisses bursts,
A-smile with the little white pearls:
And Mary our rosily-goldening peach,
On the sunniest side of the wall;
And Helen—mother's own darling,
And Maggie, the baby of all."
The summer was passed by our dear little Lillie in playing and frolicking, and sometimes tearing her frocks; which last, her mother minded not the least bit, as long as it was an accident. I don't, either. Children had better tear their frocks a little, jumping, climbing over fences, and getting fat and healthy, than to sit in the house, looking pale and miserable. My Alice often comes in, a perfect object to behold! I sometimes wonder the ragman, who drives the old cart with a row of jingling bells strung over the top, don't mistake her for a bundle of rags gone out for a walk. I don't feel worried about it; for if he should happen to make this mistake, and pop her in his cart some day, Alice would make one of her celebrated Indian "yoops," as she calls it, and I rather think he would pop her out, quicker than she went in.