June.—Went to afternoon tea with the biggest Dutch Doll. Rather a come-down, but now that there is this coolness between the Composition set and myself, I must go somewhere. I feel so bored at times! Can see the ridiculous Dutch thing is trying to out-dress me! She had a frock on that must have cost at least fifty beads, and I don't believe it will ever be paid for! Only made her look the bigger guy, though! Tea-party a stupid affair. Make-believe tea in pewter cups. Met the latest arrival, a really nice-looking Gentleman Doll, introduced as "Mr. Joseph." Very innocent face, without any moustache, and the sweetest blue eyes (except mine) I think I ever saw! Seemed rather shy, but pleasant. Asked him to call.
June 18.—Mr. Joseph has not called yet. Very strange! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls have been setting him against me. Met him by the back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. By a little management, I got it all out of him. I was right. He has been told about the Skipjack. He has strict principles, and gave me to understand that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance—which was like his impudence! This is exciting, though. I intend to overcome these scruples; I mean him to be madly in love with me—then I shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him just right!
July.—My tactics have succeeded—at last! To-day Joseph called, ostensibly to beg me to go and see the unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, reduced to a mere bowl, and so exhausted that he cannot hold out much longer. However, in the course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious of the Ball. He fell at my feet. "Beautiful Gloriana," he cried, "with all your many and glaring faults, I love you!" Then I carried out the rest of my programme—it was a painful scene, and I will only record that when he left me, he was completely un-dolled! I feel almost sorry for him—he had rather a nice face!
"I see him standing, on the very brink of the precipice."
July 4.—I don't seem able to settle to anything. After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. It would comfort him, and I might see him there. I will order the pony-carriage.
August.—What has happened to me? Where have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh.... Something has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the slightest control over them! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and "Mamma!" All at once I see him standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, even yet? How I will love him if he does! An instant of sickening suspense ... we are over!—falling down, down, down.... A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head—and I know no more. What follows is a dream—a horrible, confused nightmare—of lying among a heap of limp bodies—some armless, some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) headless! I grope blindly for my own limbs—they are intact; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head—it is gone!... The shock is too much—I faint once more. And that is all.
Thank goodness, it was only a dream—for here I am, in the same old nursery again! Not all a dream, either—or my pony-carriage would scarcely present such a damaged appearance. The accident was real. Then what—what has become of Joseph? I must find him—I must make him understand that I repent—that, for the future, I intend to be a changed doll!