MY FIRST MAMMA
I arrived safe at the doll-shop, and Mrs. Sprat took me out of the
basket with her finger and thumb, keeping all her other fingers spread
out, for fear of soiling my silver paper.
‘Place all these dolls on the shelf in the back parlor,’ said the
master of the shop. ‘I have no room yet for them in the window.’ As I
was carried to the shelf, I caught a glimpse of the shop-window! What
a bright and confused sensation it gave me! Everything seemed so light
and merry and numerous! And then, through all this crowd of many shapes
and colors, packed and piled and hanging up in the window, I saw the
crowds of large walking people passing outside in the world, which was
as yet perfectly unknown to me! Oh, how I longed to be placed in the
shop-window! I felt I should learn things so fast, if I could only see
them. But I was placed in a dark box, among a number of other dolls,
for a long time, and when I was taken out I was laid upon my back upon
a high shelf, with my rosy cheeks and blue eyes turned towards the
ceiling.
Yet I cannot say that the time I passed on this shelf was by any means
lost or wasted. I thought of all I had seen in Mr. Sprat’s room, and
all I had heard them talk about, which gave me many very strange and
serious thoughts about the people who lived in the world only for the
purpose, as I supposed, of buying dolls. The conversation of Mr. Sprat
with his family made me very naturally think this; and in truth I have
never since been quite able to fancy but that the principal business
of mankind was that of buying and selling dolls and toys. What I heard
the master of the shop in Holborn often say helped to fix this early
impression on my mind.
But the means by which I learned very much of other things and other
thoughts was by hearing the master’s little girl Emmy read aloud to
her elder sister. Emmy read all sorts of pretty books, every word
of which I eagerly listened to, and felt so much interested, and so
delighted, and so anxious and curious to hear more. She read pretty
stories of little boys and girls, and affectionate mammas and aunts,
and kind old nurses, and birds in the fields and woods, and flowers in
the gardens and hedges; and then such beautiful fairy tales; and also
pretty stories in verse; all of which gave me great pleasure, and were
indeed my earliest education. There was the lovely book called ‘Birds
and Flowers,’ by Mary Howitt; the nice stories about ‘Willie,’ by Mrs.
Marcett; the delightful little books of Mrs. Harriet Myrtle,--in which
I did so like to hear about old Mr. Dove, the village carpenter, and
little Mary, and the account of May Day, and the Day in the Woods,--and
besides other books, there was oh! such a story-book called ‘The
Good-natured Bear!’ But I never heard any stories about dolls, and what
they thought, or what happened to them! This rather disappointed me.
Living at a doll-shop, and hearing the daughter of the master of such
a wonderful shop reading so often, I naturally expected to have heard
more about dolls than any other creatures! However, on the whole, I was
very well contented, and should have been perfectly happy if they would
only have hung me up in the shop-window! What I wanted was to be placed
in the bright window, and to look into the astonishing street!
Soon after this, however, by a fortunate accident, I was moved to an
upright position with my back against a doll’s cradle, so that I could
look down into the room below, and see what was going on there.
How long I remained upon the shelf I do not know, but it seemed like
years to me, and I learned a great deal.
One afternoon Emmy had been reading to her sister as usual, but this
time the story had been about a great Emperor in France, who, once
upon a time, had a great many soldiers to play with, and whose name
was Napoleon Bonaparte. The master himself listened to this, and as
he walked thoughtfully up and down from the back room to the shop in
front, he made himself a cocked hat of brown paper, and put it upon his
head, with the corners pointing to each shoulder. Emmy continued to
read, and the master continued thoughtfully walking up and down with
his hands behind him, one hand holding the other.
But presently, and when his walk had led him into the front shop, where
I could not see him, the shop-bell rang and Emmy ceased reading. A boy
had come in, and the following dialogue took place.
‘If you please, sir,’ said the voice of the boy, ‘do you want a nice
Twelfth-cake?’
‘Not particularly,’ answered the master, ‘but I have no objection to
one.’
‘What will you give for it, sir?’ said the boy.
‘That is quite another question,’ answered the master; ‘go about your
business. I am extremely engaged.’
‘I do not want any money for it, sir,’ said the boy.
‘What do you mean by that, my little captain?’ said the master.
‘Why, sir,’ said the boy, ‘if you please, I want a nice doll for my
sister, and I will give you this large Twelfth-cake that I have in
paper here for a good doll.’
‘Let me see the cake,’ said the master. ‘So, how did you get this cake?’
‘My grandfather is a pastry-cook, sir,’ answered the boy, ‘and
my sister and I live with him. I went to-day to take home seven
Twelfth-cakes. But the family at one house had all gone away out of the
country, and locked up the house, and forgotten to send for the cake;
and grandfather told me that I and my sister might have it.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Thomas Plummy, sir; and I live in Bishopsgate street, near the Flower
Pot.’
‘Very well, Thomas Plummy; you may choose any doll you fancy out of
that case.’
Here some time elapsed; and while the boy was choosing, the master
continued his slow walk to and fro from one room to the other, with
the brown paper cocked hat, which he had forgotten to take off, still
upon his head. It was so very light that he did not feel it, and did
not know it was there. At last the boy declared he did not like any of
the dolls in the case, and so went from one case to another, always
refusing those the master offered him; and when he did choose one
himself, the master said it was too expensive. Presently the master
said he had another box full of good dolls in the back room, and in he
came, looking so grave in his cocked hat, and beginning to open a long
wooden box. But the boy had followed him to the door, and peeping in,
suddenly called out, ‘There, sir! that one! that is the doll for my
cake!’ and he pointed his little brown finger up at me.
‘Aha!’ said the master, ‘that one is also too expensive; I cannot let
you have that.’
However, he took me down, and while the boy was looking at me with
evident satisfaction, as if his mind was quite made up, the master got
a knife and pushed the point of it into the side of the cake, just to
see if it was as good inside as it seemed to be on the outside. During
all this time he never once recollected that he had got on the brown
paper cocked hat.
‘Now,’ said the master, taking me out of the boy’s hand, and holding me
at arm’s length, ‘you must give me the cake and two shillings besides
for this doll. This is a young lady of a very superior make, is this
doll. Made by one of the first makers. The celebrated Sprat, the only
maker, I may say, of this kind of jointed dolls. See! all the joints
move--all work in the proper way; up and down, backwards and forwards,
any way you please. See what lovely blue eyes; what rosy cheeks and
lips; and what a complexion on the neck, face, hands, and arms! The
hair is also of the most beautiful kind of delicate light-brown curl
that can possibly be found. You never before saw such a doll, nor any
of your relations. It is something, I can tell you, to have such a doll
in a family; and if you were to buy her, she would cost you a matter of
twelve shillings!’
‘Sir,’ said he, ‘this is a Twelfth-cake of very superior make. If the
young lady who sits reading there was only to taste it, she would
say so too. It was made by my grandfather himself, who is known to
be one of the first makers in all Bishopsgate street; I may say the
very first. There is no better in all the world. You see how heavy it
is; what a quantity of plums, currants, butter, sugar, and orange and
lemon-peel there is in it, besides brandy and caraway comfits. See!
what a beautiful frost-work of white sugar there is all over the top
and sides! See, too, what characters there are, and made in sugar of
all colors! Kings and queens in their robes, and lions and dogs, and
Jem Crow, and Swiss cottages in winter, and railway carriages, and
girls with tambourines, and a village steeple with a cow looking in at
the porch; and all these standing or walking, or dancing upon white
sugar, surrounded with curling twists and true lover’s knots in pink
and green citron, with damson cheese and black currant paste between.
You never saw such a cake before, sir, and I’m sure none of your family
ever smelt any cake at all like it. It’s quite a nosegay for Queen
Victoria herself; and if you were to buy it at grandfather’s shop, you
would have to pay fifteen shillings and more for it.’
‘Thomas Plummy!’ said the master, looking very earnestly at the boy;
‘Thomas Plummy! take the doll, and give me the cake. I only hope it
may prove half as good as you say. And it is my opinion that, if you,
Thomas Plummy, should not happen to be sent to New South Wales to bake
brown bread, you may some day or other come to be Lord Mayor of London.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the boy. ‘How many Abernethy biscuits will you
take for your cocked hat?’
The master instantly put his hand up to his head, looking so confused
and vexed, and the boy ran laughing out of the shop. At the door he
was met by his sister, who had been waiting to receive me in her arms:
and they both ran home, the little girl hugging me close to her bosom,
and the boy laughing so much at the affair of the cocked hat that he
could hardly speak a word all the way.
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