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WHERE SARAH JANE’S DOLL WENT
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
In the first place, Sarah Jane had no right to take the doll
to school, but the temptation was too much for her. The doll
was new — it was, in fact, only one day old — and such a doll!
Rag, of course — Sarah Jane had heard only vague rumors of
other kinds — but no more like the ordinary rag doll than a fairy
princess is like a dairymaid. The minute that Sarah Jane saw
it she knew at once that there never had been such a doll. It
was small — ^not more than seven or eight inches tall — not by
any means the usual big, sprawling, moon-faced rag baby with
its arms standing out at right angles with its body. It was tiny
and genteel in figure, slim-waisted, and straight-backed. It
was made of, not common cotton cloth, but linen — real, glossy,
white linen — which Sarah Jane’s mother, and consequently the
doll’s grandmother, had spun and woven. Its face was colored
after a fashion which was real high art to Sarah Jane. The
little cheeks and mouth were sparingly flushed with cranberry
juice, and the eyes beamed blue with indigo. The nose was
delicately traced with a quill dipped in its grandfather’s ink-
stand, and though not quite as natural as the rest of the features,
showed fine effort. Its little wig was made from the fine ravel-
lings of Serena’s brown silk stockings.
Serena was Sarah Jane’s married sister, who lived in the next
house across the broad, green yard, and she had made this won-
derful doll. She brought it over one evening just before Sarah
Jane went to bed. “There,” said she, “if you’ll be a real good
girl I’ll give you this.”
“Oh,” cried Sarah Jane, and she could say no more.
Serena, who was only a girl herself, dandled the doll impres-
sively before her bewildered eyes. It was dressed in a charming
frock made from a bit of Serena’s best French calico. The
frock was of a pale lilac color with roses sprinkled over it, and
was cut with a low neck and short puffed sleeves.
“Now, Sarah Jane,” said Serena admonishingly, “there’s one
thing I want to tell you: you mustn’t carry this doll to school.
If you do, you’ll lose it; and you won’t get another very soon.
It was a good deal of work to make it. Now you mind what I say.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sarah Jane. It was not her habit to say
ma’am to her sister Serena, if she was twelve years older than she;
but she did now, and reached out impatiently for the doll.
“Well, you remember,” said Serena. “If you take it to
school and lose it, it’ll be the last doll you’ll get.”
And Sarah Jane said, “Yes, ma’am,” again.
She had to go to bed directly, but she took the new doll
with her — that was not forbidden, much to her relief. And be-
fore she went to sleep she had named her with a most flowery
name, nothing less than Lily Rosalie Violet May. It took her
a long time to decide upon it, but she was finally quite satisfied,
and went to sleep hugging Lily Rosalie, and dreamed about her
next day’s spelling lesson — ^that she failed and went to the foot
of the class.
It was singular, but for once a dream of Sarah Jane’s came
true. She actually did miss in her spelling lesson the next day,
and although she did not go quite to the foot of the class, she
went very near to it. But if Sarah Jane was not able to spell
scissors correctly, she could have spelled with great success Lily
Rosalie Violet May. All the evening she had been printing it
over and over on a fly-leaf of her spelling-book. She could
feel no interest in scissors, which had no connection, except a
past one, with her beloved new doll.
Poor Sarah Jane lived such a long way from school that she
had to carry her dinner with her, so there was a whole day’s
separation, when she had only possessed Lily Rosalie for a mat-
ter of twelve hours. It was hard. She told some of her parti-
cular cronies about her, and described her charms with enthu-
siasm, but it was not quite equal to displaying her in person.
The little girls promised to come over and see the new doll
just as soon as their mothers would let them, and one, Ruth
Gumey, who was Sarah Jane’s especial friend, said she would
go home with her that very night — she didn’t believe her mother
would care — ^but they were going to have company at tea, and
she was afraid if she were late, and had to sit at the second table,
that she wouldn’t get any currant tarts.
Sarah Jane did not urge her, but she felt deeply hurt that
Ruth could prefer currant tarts to a sight of Lily Rosalie.
She was rather apt to loiter on her way home. There was
much temptation to at this time of the year, when the mead-
ows on either side of the road were so brimful of grass and flowers,
when the air was so sweet, and so many birds were singing. There
was a brook on the way, and occasionally Sarah Jane used to
stop and have a little secret wade. But to-night neither nod-
ding way-side flowers nor softly rippling brook had any attrac-
tion for her. Straight home, her little starched white sun-bon-
net pointing ahead unswervingly, her small pattering feet never
turning aside from the narrow beaten track between the way-
side grasses, she went to Lily Rosalie Violet May.
She found her just .as beautiful as when she left her. That
long day of absence, filled in with her extravagant childish fancy,
had not caused her charms to lessen in the least.
Sarah Jane ran straight to the linen chest, in whose till she
had hidden for safety the precious doll, and there she lay, her
indigo blue eyes staring up, smiling at her with the sweet cran-
berry-colored smile which Serena had fixed on her face. Sarah
Jane caught her up in rapture. Her mother told Serena that
night that she didn’t know when she’d seen the child so tickled
with anything as she was with that doll.
“She didn’t carry it to the school, did she?” said Serena.
“No. I guess she won’t want to, as long as you told her
not to,” replied her mother.
Sarah Jane had been always an obedient little girl; but —
she had never before had Lily Rosalie Violet May. Her mother
did not consider that.
Sarah Jane did not have a pocket made in her dress; it was
not then the fashion. Instead, she wore a very large-sized one,
made of stout cotton, tied around her waist by a string under
her dress skirt. The next day, when Sarah Jane went to school,
she carried in this pocket her new doll. She was quite late this
morning, so there was no time to display it before school com-
menced.
Once, when the high arithmetic class was out on the floor,
she pulled it slyly out of her pocket, held it under her desk, and
poked Ruth Gumey, who sat in the next seat.
“Oh!” gasped Ruth, almost aloud. The doll seemed to
fascinate everybody. “Let me take it,” motioned Ruth; but
Sarah Jane shook a wise head, and slid Lily Rosalie back in
her pocket. She was not going to run the risk of having her
confiscated by the teacher. But when recess came Sarah Jane
was soon the proud little centre of an admiring group.
“Sarah Jane’s got the handsomest new doll,” one whispered
to another, and they all crowded around. Even some of the
“big girls” came, and two or three of the big boys. Sarah Jane
was one of the smallest girls in school, and sat in the very front
seat. Now she felt like a big girl herself. This wonderful doll
raised her at once to a position of importance. There she stood
in the comer by the window, and proudly held it. She wore
a neat cotton dress cut after the fashion of Lily Rosalie’s, with
a low neck and short sleeves, displaying her dimpled neck
and arms. Her round cheeks were flushed with a softer pink
than the doll’s, and her honest brown eyes were full of delight.
One and another of the girls begged for the privilege of taking
the doll a mornent and Sarah Jane would grant it, and then
watch them with thinly veiled anxiety. Suppose their fingers
shouldn’t be quite clean, and there should be a spot on Lily
Rosalie’s beautiful white linen skin! One of the girls rubbed her
cheeks to see if the red would come off, and Sarah Jane wriggled.
Joe West was one of the big boys who had joined the group.
Years after, he was Joseph B. West, an eminent city lawyer.
Years after that, he was Judge West of the Superior Court. Now
he was simply Joe West, a tall, lanky boy with a long, rosy face
and a high forehead. His arms came too far through his jacket
sleeves, and showed his wrists, which looked unnaturally
knobby and bony. He went barefoot all summer long, and
was much given to chewing sassafras.
He offered a piece to Sarah Jane now, extracting it with
gravity from a mass of chalk, top strings, buttons, nails, and
other wealth with which his pocket was filled.
Sarah Jane accepted it with a modest little blush, and
plumped it into her rosy mouth.
Then Joe West followed up his advantage. “Say, Sarah
Jane,” said he, “lemme take her a minute.”
She eyed him doubtfully. Somehow she mistrusted him.
Joe West had rather the reputation of being a sore tease.
“She’s just the prettiest doll I ever saw,” Joe went on.
“Lemme take her just a minute, Sarah Jane; now do.”
”He’s just stuffing you, Sarah Jane; don’t you let him touch
it,” spoke out one of the big girls.
“Stuffing” was a very expressive word in the language of
the school. Sarah Jane shook her head with a timid little
smile, and hugged Lily Rosalie tighter.
“Now do, Sarah Jane. I wouldn’t be stingy. Haven’t I
just given you some sassafras?”
That softened her a little. The spicy twang of the sassa-
fras was yet on her tongue. “I’m afraid you won’t give her
back to me,” murmured she.
“Yes, I will, honest. Now do, Sarah Jane.”
It was against her better judgment; the big girl again raised
her warning voice; but Joe West adroitly administered a little
more flattery, and followed it up with entreaty, and Sarah Jane,
yielding, finally put her precious little white linen baby into his
big, grimy, out-reaching hands.
“Oh, the pretty little sing!” said Joe West then, in an ab-
surdly soft voice, and dandled it up and down. “What’s its
name, Sarah Jane?”
And Sarah Jane in her honesty and simplicity repeated that
flowery name.
“Lily Rosalie Violet May,” said Joe, after her, softly. And
everybody giggled.
A pink color spread all over Sarah Jane’s face and dimpled
neck; tears sprang to her eyes. She felt as if they were poking
fun at something sacred; her honest, childish confidence was
betrayed. “Give her back to me, Joe West!” she cried.
But Joe’ only dandled it out of her reach, and then the bell
rang. The children trooped back into the school-room, and
Joe quietly slipped the doll into his pocket and marched gravely
to his seat.
Every time when Sarah Jane gazed around at him he was
studying his geography with the most tireless industry. She
could hardly wait for school to be done; when it was, she tried
to get to Joe, but he was too quick for her. He had started
with his long stride down the road before she could get to the
door. She called after him, but he appeared to have suddenly
grown deaf. The other girls condoled with her, all but the big
girl who had given the warning. “You’d ought to have listened
to me,*’ said she, severely, as she tied on her sun-bonnet in the
entry. ” I told you how it would be, letting a boy have hold of it.”
Sarah Jane was not much comforted. She crept forlornly
along towards home. Joe West’s house was on the way. There
was a field south of it. As she came to this field she saw Joe
out there with the bossy. This bossy, which was tethered to
an old apple-tree, was cream-colored, with a white star on her
forehead and a neck and head like a deer. She stood knee-
deep in the daisies and clover, and looked like a regular picture-
calf. If Sarah Jane had not been so much occupied with her
own troubles, she would have stopped to gaze with pleasure
at the pretty creature. Joe stood at her head and appeared to
be teasing her. She twitched away from him, and lunged at
him playfully with her budding horns.
“Joe! Joe!” called quaking little Sarah Jane.
Joe West gave one glance at her; his face flushed a burning
red; then he left the bossy and went with long strides across
the fields towards his home. The poor girl followed him.
“Joe! Joe!” called the little despairing voice, but he never
turned his head.
Sarah Jane got past his house; then she sat down beside
the road and wept. She did not know how Joe West, remorse-
ful and penitent, was peeping at her from his window. She
did not know of the tragedy which had just been enacted over
there in the clover-field. The bossy calf, who was hungry for
all strange articles of food, had poked her inquiring nose into
Joe West’s jacket pocket, whence a bit of French calico
emerged, had caught hold of it, and, in short, had then and there
eaten up Lily Rosalie Violet May. Joe had made an attempt
to pull her by her silken wig out of that greedy mouth, but the
bossy calmly chewed on.
It was just as well that Sarah Jane did not know it at the
time. She had enough to bear — ^her own distress over the loss
of the doll, and the reproaches of Serena and her mother. They
agreed that the loss of the doll served her right for her disobe-
dience, and that nothing should be said to Joe West. They
also thought the affair too trivial to fuss over. Lily Rosalie
even in her designer’s eyes was not what she was to Sarah Jane.
“If you’d minded me you wouldn’t have lost it,” said Ser-
ena. “I am not going to make you another.”
Sarah Jane hung her head meekly. But in the course of
three months she had another doll in a very unexpected and
curious way. One evening there was a knock on the side door,
and when it was opened there was no one there, but on the step
lay a big package directed to Sarah Jane. It contained a real,
bought doll, with a china head and a cloth body, who was
gorgeously and airily attired in pink tarlatan with silver span-
gles. The memory of Lily Rosalie paled.
There was great wonder and speculation. Nobody dreamed
how poor Joe West had driven cows from pasture, and milked,
and chopped wood, out of school-hours, and taken every cent
he had earned and bought this doll to atone for the theft of Lily
Rosalie Violet May.
Sarah Jane’s mother declared that she should not carry this
doll, no matter whence it came, to school, and she never did
but once — that was on her birthday, and she teased so hard,
and promised not to let any one take her, that her mother con-
sented. At recess Sarah Jane was again the centre of attrac-
tion. She turned that wonderful pink tarlatan lady round and
round before the admiring eyes; but when Joe West, meek and
mildly conciliatory, approached the circle, she clutched her
tightly and turned her back on him.
“I’m not going to have Joe West steal another doll,’* said
she. And Joe colored and retreated.
Years afterwards, when Joe was practicing law in the city,
and came home for a visit, and Sarah Jane was so grown-up
that she wore a white muslin hat with rosebuds, and a black
silk mantilla, to church, she knew the whole story, and they
had a laugh over it.
