“That isn’t a doll,” finally said one of the boys.
“Oh yes,” replied the Page, “it is a marionette made by the toy maker who lives across the Forbidden Land.”
Maida forgot her danger in her embarrassment and snapped out, “I’m not.”
“Why, she can speak,” said the boy in great surprise.
“Oh yes,” replied the Page, coolly, “and she can run too.”
“I wish I had a chance,” thought Maida, slyly peering about for a possible avenue of escape; but there was none, for all the boys were crowded about admiring her.
“Can she laugh?” asked one, and without waiting for an answer, he tickled Maida in the ribs. Well you know how it is yourself when somebody holds you with one hand so you can’t get away, and points the forefinger of the other hand at you and it comes closer and closer, till finally—why of course you just can’t help laughing. At any rate, Maida couldn’t; serious as was her plight, she burst into a scream of laughter (for she was an awfully ticklish little girl), which filled all the boys with delight. The one who had tickled her was so elated with his success he tried a new trick.
“She can weep, too, mayhap,” he said, and pinched her. Oh, a real hard pinch—right on the arm! There was no doubt about it, Maida could weep—and did.
“You cruel thing,” she screamed, and burst into tears, at which the boys only laughed the more.
“She’s not a toy, she’s alive,” said the cruel boy staring at her.