Eight dolls are quite a handful for even two people to attend to, but Betsey and the doctor finally managed to seat the five children around the big table and get them all waited upon by Dinah and Mrs. Delight. Betsey had made a big paper brick of ice cream, made up of tiny cubes of different colors, exactly like the big one that was waiting down-stairs for her own Christmas dinner.
“You’re a mighty good cook, missus!” piped up Dr. Lawrence for the Kewpie, rolling his eyes at Dinah. Just then the nursery clock struck four.
“Bless my soul! I must go!” shouted Dr. Lawrence, getting up in a great rush and nearly upsetting the whole house.
“O I’m sorry!” said Betsey, following him down-stairs,—“but I’m very much obliged for this short call. And tomorrow can I go and take Molly’s dolls back to her?”
“I think you may. If you gargle, you know.”
The two entered the library where Father and Mother were seated.
“I never saw a little girl in all my life,” said Dr. Lawrence to nobody in particular, “who played so charmingly with her dolls. Now I have a little niece who had the greatest doll-house last Christmas that you ever laid eyes on. It was just perfect. Little marble-topped tables, and desk telephones, and clothes—! Why, her dolls had so many clothes they didn’t know what to do. And all made,—every one of ’em,—all finished. I never used to understand why she didn’t play with ’em. And now,”—he made a low bow to Betsey,—“now I know.”
“Because she didn’t have anything to make?” questioned Betsey.
“Exactly so,” said Dr. Lawrence. “Elise had nothing to do but dress and undress those dolls. She couldn’t talk for them because there was nothing to say. In fact, I’d like to give a perfectly bare doll-house to every little girl I know. I wouldn’t give her a single piece of furniture, or any money to buy it with, either.”
“Betsey has had just a dollar this year for baby ribbon and tissue-paper and white cardboard,” remarked Mrs. Avery with a smile.