I am a poor little thing. I used to be a beauty and a pet and a
darling. But now I am a martyr, and am fading away by degrees. I
haven't had a kiss or a kind word from my mamma since Christmas.
It's more'n a week since I had my dress off or had on my night-gown
at night; and you know it's very unrefreshful to have to wear the
same clothes night and day. Still, 's long as I had a bed to sleep
in, I didn't complain. But now for three nights I've slept under
the sofa, with a lion and a tiger out of Bobby's Noah's ark by my
side, and my poor little arms lying out on the floor. Mr. Philip,
mamma's big brother, stepped on my thumb last night, and it gives
me scruciating pain. Puss carried me all round in her mouth
yesterday, and Peg, the terrier, shook me as if I had been a rat
and 'most shook away my senses. And I heard Nurse and Norah the
waitress talking, and Nurse said, "Oh, Norah, do throw the
horrid-looking creature in the ash barrel; it isn't wanted in the
nursery now."
Please can not somebody go to my mamma, and ask her to save me from
my cruel fate. If she'll never love me any more, won't she give me
to somebody who hasn't so many other new favorites? For I think my
heart will break.