She looked and she looked and she did not say a word. She saw how the stiff brown curls of the little figure were pulled out so prettily from under the close hood. Just so her own yellow hair would peep out, if only the cape belonged to her. She liked the way the cape folded back and showed the front of the dark blue frock. It is true that Sally had no dark blue dress at home, but surely a white one would look just as well.
Then Mother turned to go and Sally spoke.
‘Mother,’ said Sally, ‘I don’t want a tea-set and I don’t want a piano. I want a cape for my birthday present.’
‘A cape?’ said Mother in surprise. ‘Do you mean a red cape like the one in the window? Why, you don’t need a cape, Sally. Come upstairs now, and look at the toys.’
‘I want a cape,’ persisted Sally. ‘Aunt Sarah said I might choose my present myself.’
‘So you shall,’ answered Mother. ‘But come and look at the toys first.’
So upstairs went Sally, and round and round the toy department she and Mother walked. Sally had never seen so many toys before in all her life.
She saw tea-sets and tea-tables, stoves and pianos. She saw dolls and their carriages, their cribs, their bureaus, and even their bathtubs. She saw toy animals and games, doll-houses, trains, and boats. There were picture books and painting sets, there were balls and blocks. There were really no toys made for a little girl’s pleasure that Sally did not see.
When they had walked all round the room Mother said, ‘Well, Sally, what will you choose?’
And Sally’s answer was, ‘Please, I want a cape.’