Page 49—Dolly Land
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Doctor Charlie and His Patient Run for the doctor! Dolly's very sick! Mary, you'll have to go, I cannot leave her; Tell him to pack his bottles And come quick; I think she has got A very dangerous fever." In stalks a hat and cane; If you look close, You'll see Doctor Charlie, Somewhere under; He takes a pinch of snuff And blows his nose, While poor sick Dolly Seems to stare in wonder. He feels her pules, he Gravely shakes his head: His hat dropped o'er his eyes With the shake he gave it; He says poor dolly Must be put to bed And have her head shaved— He, in fact, will shave it. Poor mamma sober looks, But says at once That "Dolly's head shall Not be shaved! I guess not! Her hair would never grow Again, you dunce!" "It shall!" "It shan't!" "She'll die then, if it's not!" But Mary, ere the quarrel Gets too grave (Already in her hand A bowl of gruel), Says, "Don't you know That doctors do not shave? And then besides, It really would be cruel!" "I'll give her pills, then, When she's safe in bed, Plenty and sweet—of sugar I will make them; As dolly cannot eat, 'Twill do instead For you and me and Mary here to take them." |
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Dollies' Broken Noses Two little babies In carriages two, Two little nurses With duty to do. Both little nurses Were careful at first, Soon both grew careless— Which was the worst. O what a pitiful Wail from the street! One broken rail Trips four little feet. Over went carriages, Babies and all, And two china noses Were cracked in the fall. |
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The Soldier Dolly There once was a sweet tiny maiden, A wee little woman of four, Who scarce could reach up to the table, Or open the nursery door; And this poor little maid, she was crying— Her dolly had such a fall! Yes there on the ground he was lying— Her darling, the best of them all. This dolly had been a brave soldier, With uniform, sabre, and all, And worshipp'd a doll in the doll's-house, That stood by the side of the wall. She was only a poor tiny maiden, A wee little woman of four, And she sat with her heart nearly breaking, With the doll in her lap on the floor. And the poor, tiny, sorrowful maiden, The wee little woman of four, Now lies with her dead soldier dolly, Asleep on the nursery floor. |
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The Dead Doll You needn't be trying to comfort me— I tell you my dolly is dead! There's no use saying she isn't— With a crack like that on her head. It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt Much to have my tooth out that day. And then when they most pulled My head off, you hadn't a word to say. And I guess you must think I'm a baby, When you say you can mend it with glue! As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you? You might make her look all mended— But what do I care for looks? Why, glue's for chairs and tables, And toys, and the backs of books! My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack! It just makes me sick to think of the sound When her poor head went whack Against this horrible brass thing That holds up the little shelf. Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself? I think you must be crazy— You'll get her another head! What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead! And to think that I hadn't quite finished Her elegant New Year's hat! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers List night to tie on that horrid cat! When my mamma gave me that ribbon— I was playing out in the yard— She said to me most expressly: "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, And Hildegarde saw me do it; But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!" But I know that she knew it now, And I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, And so her head broke too. Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit! For I've hit it over and over, And it hasn't cracked a bit. But since the darling is dead, She'll want to be buried of course; We will take my little wagon, Nurse, And you shall be the horse; And I'll walk behind and cry; And we'll put her in this—you see, This dear little box—and we'll bury Them under the maple tree. And papa will make a tombstone, Like the one he made for my bird; And he'll put what I tell him on it— Yes, every single word! I shall say: "Here lies Hildegarde, A beautiful doll that is dead; She died of a broken heart, And a dreadful crack in her head." Margaret Vandegrift |
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Dolly's Doctor Dolly, my darling, is dreadfully sick; Oh, dear! what shall I do? Despatch to the doctor a telephone quick To bring her a remedy new. Hush! that is the doctor's tap! tap! tap! Don't make such a terrible noise— Don't you see how the darling lies still on my lap, And never looks up at you boys! Come, doctor, and tell me now just what you think Would be best for my darling so sweet. 'Give dolly a bucket of water to drink, In a bowl of hot gruel put her feet.' |
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