As it was she nodded as she walked, and again the song of the bluebird peeped dreamily from out the unoiled spindle. She tried to sing to keep awake, and then there came a strange phantasy to mix with it all, and out of the half-awake world in which she now staggered along she caught sight of something which made her open her eyes and laugh outright.
Was it—could it be? In very truth it was—
Dolls!
And oh, so many! And all in a row dressed in matchless gowns of snowy white. She would count them up to ten—as far as she had learned to count.... But there were ten,—yes, and many more than ten— ... and just to think of whole rows of them— ... all there— ... and waiting for her to reach out and fondle and caress.
And she—never in her life before had she been so fortunate as to own one....
A smile lit up her dreaming eyes. Rows upon rows of dolls.... And not even Appomattox and Atlanta had ever seen so many before; and now how funny they acted, dancing around and around and bobbing their quaint bodies and winking and nodding at her.... It was Mayday with them and down the long line of spindles these cotton dolls were dancing around their May Queen, and beckoning Shiloh to join them....
It was too cute—too cunning—! they were dancing and drawing her in—they were actually singing— ... humming and chanting a May song....
O lovely—lovely dolls!...
Jud Carpenter found her asleep in the greasy aisle, her head resting on her arm, a smile on her little face—a hand clasping a rounded well-threaded doll-like bobbin to her breast.
It is useless to try to speak in a room in which the Steam Beast's voice drowns all other voices. It is useless to try to awaken one by calling. One might as well stand under Niagara Falls and whistle to the little fishes. No other voice can be heard while the Steam Beast speaks.