so suddenly!" And not a word could he speak in reply to the little
girl, because he was so surprised.
The little girl took him into a large room, which was the home of her
doll family.
"This is your husband, Rosamond," she said to a large French doll, "and
his name is Theodore. And this is your father," she told a group of
small dolls; "he has come to live with you.
"I hope you will be a good father to them," she said to Theodore. But
Boy Doll was so overcome that his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth
and he was silent.
Theodore, as we may call him now, was placed in a large arm-chair, and
the little girl left him with his family.
His grand-looking wife held her head very high and cast a look of
disdain at poor Theodore, for she was not pleased to have a worsted doll
for a husband, and the children, following the example of their mother,
looked at their new father and giggled.
"Oh, why did I leave good Mother Munster?" thought Theodore. "She
wanted a son and she would have loved me."
He sat very still for a while. He was thinking what he should do; he
knew that as the father of a family he should be respected, and here
were his children laughing at him.
If it were not for the haughty French wife he might exert his authority,
but Theodore was a little afraid of her.
"I'll begin with the children," he said at last, "and that may impress
Rosamond."
So while the children were giggling and whispering Theodore suddenly
jumped up from his chair.
Of course he was very stiff in his movements, as he did not have any
joints, and the children laughed out and said, "Our father hasn't any
joints in his legs."
The stern look on Theodore's face soon quieted them, however, and by the
time he reached them they were quite afraid. Theodore cleared his
throat and put his hands behind him.
"It is very evident," he said, "that you need a father, for your manners
are shockingly bad. What is your name?" he asked, taking one of them by
the shoulder.
"Etta," she answered.
"And yours?" he said, pointing to another.
"May," was the reply.
"And yours, and yours, and yours, and yours, and yours, and yours?" he
asked, receiving in turn the names of Sally, Freda, Maude, Cora, Dora,
and Ida.
"I shall divide you into two groups of four each," he said, after
hearing the names. "One will be the Etta-May-Sally-Freda group, and the
other will be the Maude-Cora-Dora-Ida group. That will simplify matters
for me, and I can talk to four at one time. Ettamaysallyfreda," he
called.
"Yes, father," answered all four at once.
"If I ever hear you giggle again as you did when I appeared I shall
punish you severely."
"Yes, sir," answered the trembling dolls.
"Maudecoradoraida," said Theodore, in a stern voice.
"Yes, father," answered the second group.
"If you behave again in the manner you did when I first came to this
house you will be punished in a way you will remember."
"Yes, sir," answered the four dolls.
Theodore turned away and with all the dignity he could muster walked
toward his wife.
Rosamond's head was not held so high now, for her husband's manner with
the children had shown her that he intended to be master in his home.
"When do we dine?" he asked.
"We have no regular hour," she answered.
"We will dine at seven," said Theodore; "breakfast at eight; the hour
for lunch you may please yourself about, as I shall not be here. The
children will not dine with us," he added. "And now I should like to
see my room."
Rosamond, who was as completely subdued as the children, very meekly did
as she was told, and Theodore found himself master without any further
trouble.
But he could not forget good Mother Munster, and while he knew he should
be content in the bosom of his family, he found his thoughts often with
Mother Munster, across the water.
It was not an easy matter being the father of a family. If he felt like
jumping or lying on the floor, there were the children, and he must not
lose his dignity for a moment. "I would rather be a son," he said,
"than be the father of a family. If I could get back to Germany and
good Mother Munster I should be quite happy."
Of course this was not the proper feeling for a husband and father to
have, but you must remember that Theodore had all this thrust upon him
before he had any of the joys of boyhood.
One day he heard the family where he lived talking about going abroad,
and saw the big trunks being packed.
"Oh dear," thought Theodore, "I wonder if they will take me with them.
Perhaps they will go to Germany where the good Mother Munster lives."
And then Theodore thought a very wicked thought. "I will get into one of
the trunks and hide," he said, "and if I can find the German village
where Mother Munster lives I will not come back to be the father of a
family, but I will stay with good Mother Munster and be her little boy."
Of course that was deserting his family, but Theodore did not know
anything about how wrong that was, and so one day when he was left alone
in the room with the trunks he climbed over the side of one of them and
hid himself between the folds of a dress, without saying good-by to his
wife or children.
Theodore did not feel safe until the men came for the trunks, and then
his heart leaped for joy. After a long time the trunks were opened in a
hotel, and Theodore wondered what they would say when they found him.
"Here is Theodore," said the mother to her little girl, when she found
him inside her dresses. "I wonder how he got in my trunk."
The little girl had not brought any of her dolls and she was so pleased
to see Theodore that she hugged him.
Theodore felt guilty when he thought of what he intended to do, but his
love for Mother Munster was deeper than that for his family.
After many weeks of visiting different places, Theodore had almost given
up hope of seeing Mother Munster again, when one day he heard them say,
"We will go to Berlin to-morrow."
"Berlin, Berlin," repeated Theodore. "Where have I heard that name
before?" Then all at once it came to him that it was in Germany and
that not far from there was the village where Mother Munster lived.
He could hardly keep from jumping for joy.
One morning after they had been in Berlin for a week the father of the
little girl said, "We are to visit a little village to-day where they
make dolls."
"I will take Theodore," said the little girl, "for I want to get a girl
doll just like him."
They rode quite a distance on the train, and then in a carriage, and
stopped at a house that made Theodore's heart thump so loudly that he
feared they would hear it, for the house was the home of good Mother
Munster, and there standing in the doorway was the dear old lady
herself.
They went into the kitchen and the little girl put Theodore on a chest
which stood in the room.
In the excitement of seeing the doll-shop she forgot to take him with
her, and as soon as Theodore found himself alone he slipped off the
chest and hid behind it.
When the little girl came back from the shop she had a large doll in her
arms and she quite forgot Theodore.
A few days after, when Mother Munster was cleaning her kitchen, she
moved the chest, and there was Theodore with his arms stretched up
toward her.
Mother Munster picked him up. "Why, it is my boy!" she said. "How ever
did you get here?" she asked. Then she thought of the little girl. "I
hope she does not send for you," she said, and she held Theodore tightly
in her arms.
"So do I," said Theodore, and although he did not speak out loud Mother
Munster seemed to understand.
"You'd rather live here, hadn't you?" she asked. "I will put you on this
seat in the corner and you shall be my little boy. All the girls have
gone to homes of their own, and Jacob and I are very lonely.
"Look, Jacob," she said as he came in the door, "here is the worsted
doll I made to send across the water. He has come back to live with us,
and so at last we have a son."
Jacob smiled. He didn't think much of worsted dolls, but he took
Theodore by one hand. "You have traveled a long distance, son," he
said, "since you left here, and can tell Mother Munster and me all about
what you have seen as we three sit by the fire in the long winter
evenings." And so Theodore found a mother and father and lived a happy
and peaceful life undisturbed by the cares of a family.
But sometimes he dreams and awakens himself by calling,
"Ettamaysallyfreda," or "Maudecoradoraida." And when he makes sure it
is only a dream he turns over and goes to sleep again with a smile of
contentment on his face which plainly says, "Theodore, you are a lucky
man."
THE END
* * * * * * * *
Books by
ABBIE PHILLIPS WALKER
Sandman's Christmas Stories
The Sandman's Hour
Sandman's Twilight Stories
Sandman Tales
Told by the Sandman
Sandman's Rainy Day Stories
Sandman's Stories of Drusilla Doll
Sandman's Good-Night Stories
Sandman's Might-Be-So Stories
Sandman's Fairy Stories
Harper & Brothers
_Publishers_