the wooden plates that stand in a row.
They came out of a box of toy tea-things, and I can’t think what
became of the others;
But one never can tell what becomes of anything when one has brothers.)
Jemima is much smaller than I am, and, being made of wood, she is thin;
She takes up too much room inside, but she can lie outside on the roof
without breaking it in.
I wish I had a drawing-room to put her in when I want to really cook;
I have to have the kitchen-table outside as it is, and the
pestle-and-mortar is rather too heavy for it, and everybody
There’s no front door to the house, because there’s no front to have a
door in, and beside,
If there were, I couldn’t play with anything, for I shouldn’t know how
to get inside.
I never heard of a house with only one room, except the cobbler’s, and
his was a stall.
I don’t quite know what that is; but it isn’t a house, and it served
him for parlour and kitchen and all.
Father says that whilst he is about it, he thinks he shall add on
And brother Bill says he’ll nail my Doll’s House on the top of an
old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing.
* * * * *
Father’s house is not finished,
though the wing is; for now the
builder says it will be all wrong if there isn’t another
And my house isn’t done either, though it’s nailed on, for Bill took
off the roof to make a new one of thatch.
The paint is very much scratched, but he says that’s nothing, for it
must have had a new coat;
And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints
his own boat.
There’s a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten
as rotten can be:
Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real
glass in the window, through which one can see.
Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new
Doll’s House with proper rooms, in the regular way;
Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in
the old front; and to-day
I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren’t
worth the expense of carting away.
I don’t know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the
things are put away in a box;
Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they’re in the bottom
drawer with my Sunday frocks.
I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before;
We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door.
I don’t know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever
mine is finished, I’ll never have it altered any more.
THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA.