That's the small doll. I call him the Prince of Wales because he's the eldest son, you see;
For I've taken him for my brother, and he was Mother's doll before I was born, so of course he is older than me.
Towser is my real live brother, but I don't think he's as old as the Prince of Wales;
He's a perfect darling, though he whisks everything over he comes near, and I tell him I don't know what we should do if we all had tails.
His hair curls like mine in front, and grows short like a lion behind, but no one need be frightened, for he's as good as good;
And as to roaring like a real menagerie lion, or eating people up, I don't believe he would if he could.
He has his tea out of the saucer after I've had mine out of the cup;
You see I am sure to leave some for him, but if I let him begin first he would drink it all up.
The big doll Godmamma gave me this birthday, and the chair she gave me the year before.
(I haven't many toys, but I take great care of them, and every birthday I shall have more and more.)
You've no idea what a beautiful doll she is, and when I pinch her in the middle, she can squeak;
It quite frightened Towser, for he didn't know that any of us but he and I and Charles were able to speak.
I've taken her for my only sister, for of course I may take anybody I choose;
I've called her Cinderella, because I'm so fond of the story, and because she's got real shoes.
I don't feel so only now there are so many of us; for, counting Cinderella there are five,—
She, and I, and Towser, and Charles, and the Prince of Wales—and three of us are really alive;
And four of us can speak, and I'm sure the Prince of Wales is wonderful for his size;
For his things (at least he's only got one thing) take off and on, and, though he's nothing but wood, he's got real glass eyes.
And perhaps in three birthdays more there may be as many of us as the Smiths, for five and three make eight;
I shall be seven years old then (as old as Joe), but I don't like to think too much of it, it's so long to wait.
And after all I don't know that I want any more of us: I think I'd rather my sister had a chair
Like mine; and the next year I should like a collar for Towser if it wouldn't rub off his hair.
And it would be very nice if the Prince of Wales could be dressed like a Field-marshal, for he's got nothing on his legs;
And Cinderella's beautifully dressed, and Towser looks quite as if he'd got a fur coat on when he begs.
Joe says it's perfectly absurd, and that I can't take a Pomeranian in earnest for my brother;
But I don't think he really and truly knows how much Towser and I love each other.
I didn't like his saying, "Well, there's one thing about your lot,—you can always have your own way."
And then he says, "You can't possibly have fun with four people when you have to pretend what they say."
But, whatever he says, I don't believe I shall ever enjoy a tea-party more than the one that we had on that day.
PAPA POODLE.
Can any one look so wise, and have so little in his head?
How long will it be, Papa Poodle, before you have learned to read?
You were called Papa Poodle because you took care of me when I was a baby:
And now I can read words of three syllables, and you sit with a book before you like a regular gaby.
You've not read a word since I put you in that corner ten minutes ago;
Bill and I've fought the battle of Waterloo since dinner, and you've not learned BA BE BI BO.
Here am I doing the whole British Army by myself, for Bill is obliged to be the French;
And I've come away to hear you say your lesson, and left Bill waiting for me in the trench.
And there you sit, with a curly white wig, like the Lord Chief Justice, and as grave a face,
Looking the very picture of goodness and wisdom, when you're really in the deepest disgrace.
Those woolly locks of yours grow thicker and thicker, Papa Poodle.
Does the wool tangle inside as well as outside your head? and is it that which makes you such a noodle?
You seem so clever at some things, and so stupid at others, and I keep wondering why;
But I'm afraid the truth is, Papa Poodle, that you're uncommonly sly.
You did no spelling-lessons last week, for you were out from morning till night,
Except when you slunk in, like a dirty door-mat on legs, and with one ear bleeding from a fight,
Looking as if you'd no notion what o'clock it was, and had come home to see.
But your watch keeps very good meal-time, Papa Poodle, for you're always at breakfast, and dinner, and tea.
No, it's no good your shaking hands and licking me with your tongue,—I know you can do that;
But sitting up, and giving paws, and kissing, won't teach you to spell C A T, Cat.
I wonder, if I let you off lessons, whether I could teach you to pull the string with your teeth, and fire our new gun?
If I could, you might be the Artillery all to yourself, and it would be capital fun.
You wag your tail at that, do you? You would like it a great deal better?
But I can't bear you to be such a dunce, when you look so wise; and yet I don't believe you'll ever learn a letter.
Aunt Jemima is going to make me a new cocked hat out of the next old newspaper, for I want to have a review;
But the newspaper after that, Papa Poodle, must be kept to make a fool's cap for you.
