“THIS IS YOUR BEDROOM, LYDIA”
“This is your bedroom, Lydia,” said she, watching the brown eyes grow bigger and bigger as they gazed. Lydia looked round the room, and then she looked up at her new mother, and then she looked round the room again. It was hard to believe that this was all for her. For she saw a little white bed, and beside it a white cradle just big enough for Lucy Locket. There was a little bureau and a book-case full of picture-books. On a low table stood a work-basket, and near by a little rocking-chair held out its arms as if saying, “Come and sit in me.” And over in the corner was the doll carriage, only waiting to give Lucy Locket a ride.
But Lydia was walking slowly around the room, for halfway up the wall there were pictures, pictures of people Lydia knew very well.
“There’s Red Riding Hood,” said she, “and her mother with the basket. And here she meets the wolf, and here is grandmother’s house with the wolf in bed. And here are the Three Bears and Goldilocks, and there she goes running home to her mother. And here is Chicken Little, and Henny Penny, and all of them. Mean Foxy Loxy!” said Lydia.
Lydia’s pleasure in the room was so keen that Mrs. Blake felt well repaid for her effort in making it ready for the little girl. She smiled at Lydia’s raptures, and opened the little closet door.
“You might put your hat and coat away,” said she, “and then perhaps Lucy Locket wants to go riding or to sleep in the cradle.”
“I think she wants a ride,” said Lydia.
But when she peeped under the blue-and-white cover, there was some one already taking a nap in Lucy Locket’s carriage. Who but Miss Puss Whitetoes who opened her eyes sleepily at Lydia and shut them tight again. Then she wiggled her little pink nose. That meant, “I’m sleepy.” She winked one ear. That meant, “Go away.” So Lydia tucked the cover about her, and put Lucy Locket to bed in the new cradle. Lucy was a good child and soon fell fast asleep, and then Lydia rode the sleeping Miss Puss up and down the hall until she woke, and, springing out of the carriage, whisked upstairs like a flash.
Lydia followed, and found Mother at work in the kitchen, briskly beating eggs in a big yellow bowl and taking peeps now and then into the oven which gave out savory smells whenever the door was opened.