Beckie Stubtail, the little girl bear, who lived in the cave-house near the nice woods, had more dolls than any real girl I know of, except maybe the daughter of Santa Claus—that is if he has any children. But, of course, Santa Claus must have children of his own, or else how could he love so many children that belong to other persons—always giving them nice things at Christmas, and all that? Oh, yes, I know, lots of folks say there isn’t any Santa Claus at all, but you and I know differently, don’t we? And if those persons don’t believe it, I can show them, right on the roof of my house, the very same chimney down which Santa Claus comes every Christmas.
That ought to make them believe, oughtn’t it now? Well, I guess yes, and some lollypops besides!
But what I started to say was that Beckie Stubtail, the little girl bear, had more dolls of 216different sorts than any real child. Of course a daughter of Santa Claus wouldn’t count, for she could go to her papa’s big present-bag and take out as many dolls as she wanted—or rocking horses or jumping-jacks or anything else. So I don’t mean her.
Really Beckie had the mostest dolls, if you will kindly let me use such a word, which I know isn’t just right. Beckie had a rubber doll that would bounce up and down when you dropped her in the bath tub or on the floor. That doll’s name was Sallie Ann Kissmequick.
And then there was a rag doll, with shoe buttons sewed in her face for eyes. And the funny part about that doll was that she always kept looking at her feet. I suppose it was on account of the shoe buttons.
“But best of all,” said Beckie, when she was talking about her toys to Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl, “best of all, I like my sawdust doll, Matilda Jane Shavingstick. She is just lovely!”
“What funny names your dolls have,” said Susie.
“Yes, some of the names were given them by my Uncle Wigwag. He’s always playing tricks, and jokes, you know.”
“I know!” exclaimed Susie with a laugh, as she remembered how Uncle Wigwag, the funny 217old bear gentleman, had played one joke too many a few days before and how he had frozen himself fast to a cake of ice that Mr. Whitewash, the Polar bear gentleman, used as an easy chair.
“And I like my clothespin doll, too,” went on Beckie, for she did have a doll made of a clothespin, with inky eyes.
“I like my wax doll best of all,” said Susie. “My Uncle Wiggily Longears gave her to me last Christmas. Oh, she’s such a darling! Her cheeks are so pink and her eyes are so blue, and she can open and shut them, too, and she can say ‘Mamma’ and ‘Papa,’ when you push on a spring in her back.”
“Oh, I wish I had a wax doll!” exclaimed Beckie, the little girl bear, sort of sad-like. “But I don’t s’pose I’ll ever get one, even if Christmas is coming.”
Now, you boys needn’t go away just because you think there’s nothing but dolls in this story. I’m going to put in a real scary part pretty soon. In fact, it’s coming around the corner of my typewriter now and I’ll be up to it in a minute.
Well, Susie, the rabbit girl, and Beckie, the little bear girl, talked a lot more about dolls. I could write down what they said, but I guess you girls know pretty much what it was, anyhow, and as for the boys—well, I’ll just say that the two 218little animal girls kept on saying such things as, “Oh, she’s just too sweet for anything!” “She’s a darling!” “And she blinks her eyes so natural!” All doll-talk, you know.
Well, Beckie and Susie walked on through the woods, and pretty soon they came to a place where there was an old hollow stump. In the summer time a nice family of birds lived in it. They were some relation to Dickie Chip-Chip, the sparrow boy, but now all the birds had flown away down South, where it was nice and warm. For it was winter in bear-land, you know.
All the while Beckie Stubtail was wishing and wishing she had a wax doll, with real hair, and then, all of sudden, she looked at the old hollow stump, and, my goodness me sakes alive, and some molasses cookies, she saw a lovely wax doll there.
“Oh, look!” cried Beckie. “What a sweet doll. Whose can she be?”
“Why, she’s yours, of course,” said Susie with a smile, as she wiggled her long rabbit ears.
“Oh, I only wish she was!” cried Beckie, clapping her paws. “But how do you know?”
“Oh, it’s easy enough to tell that,” answered Susie. “That doll is yours, Beckie. It must be. You see, I have a wax doll, so I don’t need another. You have no wax doll and you want one.”<............