Cinderella; Or, The Little Glass Slipper, and Other Stories

A TROUBLESOME CALL.

     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.