We were going, on Saturday, ever so far,--

My mamma and I,--to the Dollies' Bazaar,

Where fifty wax dollies,--the loveliest show,

Went walking about when they wound 'em, you know.

You wouldn't believe half the things they could do:

Why, one said "Good morning," as plainly as you.

One played the piano, and one, dressed in lace,

Walked up to a mirror and powdered her face.

Well, when we were ready we stepped in the hall,

And there was a lady a-coming to call.

She said she just chanced to be passing that way,

And she really had only a minute to stay.

We waited and waited, and hoped she would go,

Till I saw it was almost the time for the show,

For I heard the clocks striking all over the town,

And I knew that the dollies would all be run down.

And so I just said, "I should s'pose, Mrs. Black,

Your little girl wonders why don't you come back."

That's all that I spoke, every 'dentical word;

But she said, "Little girls should be seen and not heard."

I guess that's a proverb, so maybe 'tis true;

But, if people won't see, what can little girls do?

My mamma looked queer, but that ended the call,

And we went to the Dollies' Bazaar, after all.

A STORY OF THE CHRIST-CHILD A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail