For Dorothy’s Christmas grew worse and worse.
She had so many sashes and rings,
So many fine dresses and all such things,
That closets and drawers couldn’t hold them all;
She flung them on the floor of the hall,
“I hate the sight of them all,” quoth she.
And as for the turkey and Christmas tree,—
“They’re the pest of my life,” Miss Dorothy cried,
“I dread just the name of the Christmas tide.”
The dolls of all sizes came by the dozens