With that, Dear Doll Dainty stepped up to her own special trunk, which stood open in the center of the floor, and put on her hat and slipped into her coat.
"Wh-what are you going to do?" asked Mollie, staring.
"Going away, of course. I don't care to belong to a little girl with the Pouts."
Dear Doll Dainty walked to the door.
"Wait a minute, Dear Doll Dainty," squeaked the rabbits that were capering around the top of the wall; "we're coming too." And with a great scurry, down slid the bunnies. "We're tired of trying to make a cross little girl happy."
"So are we," added the roses on the curtains sweetly, as they let themselves down by their thorns and walked to the door on their stems.
"And we." The pillows Mollie's impatient little fists had punched dropped to the floor and started off.
The trunk slammed down its lid and followed the pillows, the bureau followed the trunk, the book Mollie had thrown on the floor followed the bureau.
"Pardon me," said a deep voice, "but I am tired of being sat on and having heels dug into me!" Up went the couch. Bump! went Mollie on the floor.