They were looking at something under the Tree, at something so delightful, so exactly what they wanted to see, that they simply could not look at anything else.
For each little girl was looking at Polly Perkins sitting under the Tree. But instead of one Polly Perkins there were three!
Yes, actually three Polly Perkinses, looking exactly alike, with gentle brown eyes and pretty pink cheeks and glossy brown curls. And each Polly Perkins wore a sweet, sweet smile. There were the three pink dresses, the three pair of neat brown slippers, too.
It was simply too good to be true. But it was true. Oh, yes, indeed, it was.
Down on the floor before one Polly Perkins went Patty King, down went Anne Marie Durant before another, and last of all down went Ailie McNabb before the third Polly Perkins sitting under the Tree.
Then Grandmother stepped forward and placed a dolly in each of the little girls’ arms.
‘This is your dolly, Anne Marie,’ said Grandmother, her face as bright as that of the little girls. ‘Her name is on her apron—Polly Perkins Durant. And here is your doll, Ailie, with Polly Perkins McNabb embroidered on her apron, too. And here, my Patty, is your own dolly back again, with Polly Perkins King on her apron for every one to see.’
Sure enough, each dolly wore a pinafore, a fine white pinafore, too, and across the hem, in the neatest stitches ever seen, ran each dolly’s name, just as Grandmother said.
And over each dolly’s arm was flung a cape, a cape with a hood, and as soon as they were tried on, it was seen that they were the most beautiful capes that had ever been made.
Patty’s Polly wore a brown cape and hood, edged with beaver fur, and lined with a lovely rose-colored silk. Anne Marie’s Polly wore a gray cape and hood, trimmed with soft black fur, and lined with a pale shade of blue, while Ailie McNabb’s Polly wore a dark blue cape and hood, edged with squirrel fur, and lined with the gayest Scotch plaid silk that Grandmother could find in all the city of New York.