In the Violet Bed

The nodding rose.

       So there the little doll lay. Outside the rain had ceased, and through the open window came the good smell of wet earth and of the fresh green leaves, and the twitter of birds going here and there to search for food. Down in the long, green grass the grasshoppers were tuning their fiddles for the last time before laying them by for the night. The sun shone through the clouds, and a climbing rose near the window swayed in the breeze and nodded to the little doll as she lay there. 

       But the little doll was so unhappy that none of these beautiful things could comfort her. Was it really true that she was so old and ugly that children could never like her again? Perhaps the whole world had changed during all those years that she lived in the attic, and dolls were no longer as they used to be when she was first made. Perhaps children no longer played with dolls at all. That was a dreadful thought, for what is there left for a doll if the children cease to love her? As all these thoughts passed in her mind the tears began to roll down her wooden cheeks and trickle on the window ledge. And whether the boy had thrown her down carelessly,  or whether she moved, no one can say, but suddenly the little doll toppled over the edge of the window sill and fell straight down into the garden below. 

       Now the little mice and the spiders had heard all that passed, and they felt very bad about it, for they all loved the little doll very much. When they saw her tumble out of the window it gave them a terrible shock. They all ran to peer over, but there lay the little doll in the violet bed, quite unhurt, with her painted eyes staring up at the sky. 

We love you, just as you are.

       "Something must be done," said the mice. "This is too dreadful!" They held a consultation, and that evening, while the house was still, they all crept out and gathered round the little doll to comfort her. 

       "Never mind about the children," they said. "Come back and live in the attic with us again, for we think you are beautiful!" 

       "I don't mind about being beautiful," said the little doll, "if only the children would like me." 

       "Children are horrid things," said one mouse. "They are not at all as you said. One of them threw a stick at me today on the staircase. You had much better stay with us." 

       But the little doll was still troubled. "They said I had no clothes. Perhaps I should have had clothes. Do you think if I had clothes they would like me better?" "You don't need clothes," cried the little mice in chorus. "You are beautiful as you are. We don't have clothes!" 

       But one of the mice, who had been silent all this time, spoke up. He had traveled, and so knew more of the world than his companions. 

       "She is right," he said. "Dolls do have clothes. I have seen them. They have white, stick-out dresses and shiny things round their necks. And they have yellow hair." 

        "Oh, dear!" said the little doll, and she began to cry again, harder than ever.

        "We must get her some clothes," said the other mice. "You ought to have told us before. Something will have to be done about it."

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