<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</SPAN></span></p>
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<h2><SPAN name="THE_POOR_LITTLE_DOLL" id="THE_POOR_LITTLE_DOLL"></SPAN>THE POOR LITTLE DOLL.</h2>
<p>It was a plain little doll that had been bought
for sixpence at a stall in the market-place. It
had scanty hair and a weak composition face, a
calico body and foolish feet that always turned
inwards instead of outwards, and from which the
sawdust now and then oozed. Yet in its glass eyes
there was an expression of amusement; they
seemed to be looking not at you but through you,
and the pursed-up red lips were always smiling at
what the glass eyes saw.</p>
<p>"Well, you <i>are</i> a doll," the boy said, looking up
from his French exercise. "And what are you
staring at me for—is there anything behind?" he
asked, looking over his shoulder. The doll made
no answer. "And whatever are you smiling for?"
he asked; "I believe you are always smiling. I
believe you'd go on if I didn't do my exercise till
next year, or if the cat died, or the monument
tumbled down." But still the doll smiled in silence,
and the boy went on with his exercise. Presently
he looked up again and yawned. "I think I'll go
for a stroll," he said, and put his book by. "I
know what I'll do," he said, suddenly; "I'll take
that doll and hang it up to the apple tree to scare
away the sparrows." And calling out, "Sis, I have<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</SPAN></span>
taken your doll; I'm going to make a scarecrow of
it," he went off to the garden.</p>
<p>His sister rushed after him, crying out, "Oh, my
poor doll! oh, my dear little doll! What are you
doing to it, you naughty boy?"</p>
<p>"It's so ugly," he said.</p>
<p>"No, it is not ugly," she cried.</p>
<p>"And it's so stupid,—it never does anything but
smile,—it can't even grow,—it never gets any
bigger."</p>
<p>"Poor darling doll," Sis said, as she got it once
more safely into her arms, "of course you can't
grow, but it is not your fault, they did not make any
tucks in you to let out."</p>
<p>"And it's so unfeeling. It went smiling away
like anything when I could not do my French."</p>
<p>"It has no heart. Of course it can't feel."</p>
<p>"Why hasn't it got a heart?"</p>
<p>"Because it isn't alive. You ought to be sorry
for it, and very, very kind to it, poor thing."</p>
<p>"Well, what is it always smiling for?"</p>
<p>"Because it is so good," answered Sis, bursting
into tears. "It is never bad-tempered; it never
complains, and it never did anything unkind," and,
kissing it tenderly, "you are always good and
sweet," she said, "and always look smiling, though
you must be very unhappy at not being alive."</p>
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