“Well done!” cried the Stick Doll. “You mean a lot if you are small. Now I think we should hear from the Nutmeg, since spice seems to hold our attention at present.”
TALE OF THE NUTMEG DOLL
The doll with the small brown head now arose and walked over to the place of honour. She was a study in green. Her gown was formed of leaves from the tree upon which she grew, and an artistic picture she made as she faced her audience.
“My dear friends,” she said, and paused.
“I take my pen in hand to say I am well—” came in an audible whisper.
“And hope you are the same,” flashed the Nutmeg. “I admit I was a bit flurried. But thanks to your hurried letter just received I am myself again. I need to be, for I am rather interesting.
“I come chiefly from the Banda Islands, and some of my poor relations come from the West Indies and Brazil, where dear little Allspice lives.
“She forgot to welcome you to her home and I will show you where it is,” and she took from her pocket some tiny round balls and tossed them in various directions.
To the surprise of all, the balls lodged and stuck, and the onlookers were so interested in learning whether they stuck where they should they forgot they weren’t to learn anything.