"Yes," answered Umé, "I also have heard as much, and that they sometimes give away their dolls when they are too old to play with them."
"Give them away! Give the dear dolls away!" cried Tei, fairly choking with horror.
"Yes, but perhaps they do not respect them as much as we do," said Umé, as she placed a breakfast tray before an emperor and empress on their throne.
"There must be some reason for it," said Tei. "Of course they cannot have a Dolls' Festival if they do not keep their dolls. But still there is no need to keep the dolls if they never have a festival."
The two children stood back and looked at the shelves. On the step below the emperors knelt the court musicians, some playing on the koto, some on the samisen, and others beating tiny drums. There were also many court ladies, dressed in lovely silks and crêpes, their black hair fastened with jeweled hairpins.
"Are they not beautiful?" asked Tei, clasping her hands.
Umé looked tenderly at the lower shelves, where the more common dolls and toys were placed. "These are like the people we see every day, and I love them," she told Tei; "but when I look at the emperor dolls it makes me think of our own beloved Emperor, and I would give up all my toys for him."
"Yes," said Tei, "I would give my life for him."
At that moment she caught sight of a baby doll tied to the back of its nurse, and it reminded her of something very pleasant.
"I held my new baby brother in my arms this morning," she said.