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→Child Life on the Farm
All this was comfortable, but unpretentious. Not so on the other side of the road. The farmer's family may have been housed in small quarters; but his stock, if numerous, and his farming machinery, his tools, his carriages, wagons and his crops must be well cared for, if he would be prosperous. So there were two large barns, a granary, a carriage house, cow-sheds, pigpens, chicken-house, &c., surrounded by large barnyards; altogether, a place of never-failing interest to me.
I had no sister; my brother was three and a half years older than I, and our tastes were entirely unlike. Sometimes I was permitted to share some outdoor sport, such as riding downhill, with him, and his boy friends. Otherwise we rarely played together. But I was never a lonely little girl. Somewhere, in the fence corner, under a tree, in pleasant weather I had always a playhouse where my treasures were carefully stowed away: bits of broken china for dishes; corncob dolls, dressed in calico pieces and bits of ribbon, collected and saved with care. These dolls were my scholars, for I dearly loved to play at keeping school. It was such fun to lean them up in a row against my treasure-box, for spelling, and to see the one at the foot march proudly to the head of the class. This was <u>easy</u>, since <u>I</u> did the spelling, and marched them up and down as I chose. Perhaps my little grand-daughters, who have such large families of dollies, would like to hear about my dolls. Well, I remember just two. I think these must have been all my family, and that I cared more for books than for dolls. <br /><br />We children were not allowed to go into the parlor, except when open for visitors; I really do not see why. It was a simple room; its floor covered with a striped rag carpet. There was a bureau in one corner, and a table, and chairs stood against the walls, I suppose waiting patiently for company. stove made the room cheerful when it was cold. A looking-glass, a framed marriage certificate, and one or two pictures adorned the walls. <br /><br />Well, one day, perhaps it was a rainy day, I stole into the parlor and looked around. I wondered what mother kept in the bureau, anything but "Sunday clothes"? "I think I'll see;" and I opened a drawer, and putting my fingers down carefully, so as not to "muss up" anything, I was startled by feeling something hard. Carefully I peeped, then eagerly I seized the object. And, forgetting my disobedience, I ran to my mother: "Oh, mother, see! I've found a doll!" Had she ever seen me so glad before? Did she scold me? Not a word. She laughed and said: "I suppose I should have given it to you before. It was my doll when I was a little girl, and I meant to give it to you when you are old enough to take care of it." "Take care of it? I will <u>love</u> it!" and I thought it perfectly beautiful. Now, I will tell you, in confidence, it was perfectly <u>ugly</u>. You would say <u>horrid</u>. It was a wooden doll, without a movable joint in its body. It had been painted white, but the years had turned the white to a deep yellow. When my enthusiasm had cooled, I began to regard my doll with other emotions than affection, and my consolation was found in pretending that it was <u>dreadfully</u> <u>ill</u> with <u>jaundice</u>.
We children were not allowed to go into the parlor, except when open for visitors; I really do not see why. It was a simple room; its floor covered with a striped rag carpet. There was a bureau in one corner, and a table, and chairs stood against the walls, I suppose waiting patiently for company. stove made the room cheerful when it was cold. A looking-glass, a framed marriage certificate, and one or two pictures adorned the walls. <br /><br />Well, one day, perhaps it was a rainy day, I stole into the parlor and looked around. I wondered what mother kept in the bureau, anything but "Sunday clothes"? "I think I'll see;" and I opened a drawer, and putting my fingers down carefully, so as not to "muss up" anything, I was startled by feeling something hard.
Carefully I peeped, then eagerly I seized the object. And, forgetting my disobedience, I ran to my mother: "Oh, mother, see! I've found a doll!" Had she ever seen me so glad before? Did she scold me? Not a word. She laughed and said: "I suppose I should have given it to you before. It was my doll when I was a little girl, and I meant to give it to you when you are old enough to take care of it." "Take care of it? I will <u>love</u> it!" and I thought it perfectly beautiful. Now, I will tell you, in confidence, it was perfectly <u>ugly</u>. You would say <u>horrid</u>. It was a wooden doll, without a movable joint in its body. It had been painted white, but the years had turned the white to a deep yellow. When my enthusiasm had cooled, I began to regard my doll with other emotions than affection, and my consolation was found in pretending that it was <u>dreadfully</u> <u>ill</u> with <u>jaundice</u>.
Not long after, as mother was putting the bureau in order, I spied a little pink gingham dress, with short sleeves. "Oh! Whose little dress?" "Yours, when you were a baby." "Give it to me and we can make a dolly." So an old sheet was tightly rolled, just a little shorter than the dress. A pillow case was rolled up for arms and sewed in place. The dress <u>fitted</u> <u>beautifully</u>! When my father came home for dinner, he penciled eyes and nose and mouth, and a bang of curls over the eyes, "where the forehead ought to be", and I was <u>satisfied</u>. I had a doll to <u>hug</u> and to <u>love</u>. It went with me to the barn, the field and the brook. It slept with me at night, and never cried. After I went to school, I did not care for dolls. I hear you say: "No wonder!" and I echo: "No wonder." Books, and things alive, were what I wanted.