“You and Philip and Annabel Lee can sit up in front,” he said generously. “This piano bench is my desk. Want to come to school, Mother?”
Mother Blossom, who had stopped in to see what they were doing, shook her head.
“Haven’t time to go to school this morning,” she said. “Twaddles, if you are the schoolmaster, wouldn’t you like these old rims to play with? I always used to want to wear glasses when I played school as a little girl.”
Twaddles took the horn-rimmed spectacles joyfully. There was no glass in them, but they gave him a very learned, important look. Indeed, Philip stared at him perfectly fascinated.
“The class in reading will now recite,” announced Teacher Twaddles in his severest voice. “Come up to the platform, little girl.”
Dot obediently rose and went up to the piano bench.
“Read the first page of this,” commanded Twaddles, handing her a book. “Make a bow first.”
Dot ducked stiffly. The dolls watched her 48 unwinkingly and the dog and cat apparently wondered what would happen next.
“Now begin,” said Twaddles.
Neither he nor Dot could read, but they knew a number of poems by heart, and when they pretended to read they always held a book and repeated some of their favorite rhymes. So now Dot recited as much of “The Night Before Christmas” as she could remember.