“If you don’t pack something pretty soon, the house won’t hold you,” observed Mother Blossom, smiling. “You see, Twaddles dear, Mother doesn’t believe you will need many toys at Brookside. There will be so many wonderful new out-of-door things for you to play with. Suppose we say that each of you may choose the two things you are fondest of. That won’t make so much to carry.”
So that was settled, and when Bobby came back from town and Meg had finished practicing scales and Dot’s three new dresses had all 40 been tried on, the children went upstairs to their playroom to select the toys they thought they would want to take with them.
“I think we ought to take the things Aunt Polly gave us,” announced Meg. “They’re new, and we haven’t played with them much. She might think we didn’t like ’em if we left them at home.”
“All right, we will,” decided Bobby. “And I’ll take my ball and bat. Guess I won’t break Aunt Polly’s windows. There must be lots of room on a farm.”
“I’m going to take the paper dolls,” said Meg. “I’m pretty sure Aunt Polly will have books to read, so that’s all right. What you going to take, Dot?”
“Geraldine and Tottie-Fay and the trunk,” was the prompt response.
“That’s three,” Meg reminded her. “Mother said we could each have two. I tell you––you don’t need the trunk; just take Geraldine’s new clothes.”
“All right,” acquiesced Dot briefly.
Tottie-Fay was an old dollie, but dearly loved, 41 and, as Father Blossom said when he heard that she was going to Brookside, no one could need a change of air more.
“I’m going to carry my kiddie-car,” declared Twaddles serenely.