“There, mem, Nib and me, us found these in an ash bar’l one day,” said the girl. “But jest heads hain’t much to hug; and Nib and me’s got nither time nor patterns for bodies; and wen us heard as wot there was a Doll Doctor, us done ’thout a breckfus mornin’s, and saved up fer ter buy ther cloth an’ ther waddink. Ther cloth is ter cut out ther bodies, and ther waddink is ter stuff ’em—Nib an’ me don’t like sawdust—waddink won’t go ter run out ’f ther’s a rip. An’, mem, Nib an’ me, us hopes as they’ll be done a-Saturdy. An’ here, mem, is wot us hopes’ll make a dress for ’em both. An’ here, mem, is ther thread ter sew it. An’ this here, mem, in this little paper, is some adgink for ter trim ther things. An’ us is werry pertic’ler ’bout its bein’ a-Saturdy, mem, as Sundy gits ter be a-lonesum with nothink ter do. Hain’t Sundy a-lonesum, Nib?”
“You bet!” affirmed Nib.
All the cherubs, haloed with the pretty hair and crowned with the flowery hats, and Miss Chatty, too, would, doubtless, have been very much shocked had Nib’s voice not been like a little flute, and the eyes she lifted, like two great big violets, and the teeth she showed, beautifully white. But when lips and lids closed again, she was as homely as the other; and then everybody was shocked at what they had heard, the cherubs looking at each other, and the Doll Doctor’s face becoming much suffused as she received the young rag-pickers’ spoils. But she could not send them away. She shuddered at the old calico. Still she respectfully took it.
“Us want’s ’em as tall as this, jest about,” continued Meg, showing Miss Chatty a strip of paper. “Us thinks that’s the purtiest size for a doll.”
Miss Chatty was scarce able to speak even now; for the audacity, the simplicity, and the perfect good faith of the rag-baby “order” was as paralyzing as it was funny. She was a dear, honest Christian, but she couldn’t think quite what to do with her new customers much more readily than would Sexton Brown had Nib and Meg gone into Grace Church on Sunday. It was well for Sexton Brown that Nib and Meg had never heard that God the Father was preached at Grace Church, or they might have gone in.
Meg, at last, seemed struck by the silence of the Doll Doctor. “Mem,” said she, hastily, “don’t you go fer ter be afeard us won’t pay. Us has got ther money saved up—hain’t us, Nib?”
“I’m not afraid, not at all,” said Miss Chatty. “And they will be done on Friday. Come for them on that day. I am always extremely busy on Saturday.”
At that Meg looked much pleased. “Mem, ’f you do do us a nice job, an’ so prompt-like, ther’s lots of girls us knows as’ll get you ter fix ther dolls. Us girls thet sells things hain’t got no time fer nothink, and us couldn’t go fer ter sew and cut out if us had!”
Evidently not. Nib and Meg, under the shawls, were picturesque with tatters.
“Us wants our dolls tidy and lovesome, mem,” she added, caressingly touching the white cotton in Miss Chatty’s hand, and feasting her eyes upon its whiteness perceptibly. Miss Chatty saw it; and she saw something else at the same moment,—direful gaps and rents about the childish waist betraying that there was sad lack of “whiteness” for little Meg’s own wear,—poor Meg! that wanted her dolly “tidy and lovesome,” feasting upon the one shred of wholesome white cloth,—Miss Chatty knew the little girl’s soul to be clean by that token; and if she had halted in her treatment before, she took the little ones right into her heart now, which was a much lovelier place than her parlor.