# A Doll's Dress

Extracted from Pall Mall magazine, v.24 1901, pp. 559–563. Title illustration omitted. [#Molly Marchant]
A DOLL'S DRESS.
BY OWEN OLIVER
JANE is a good girl, but she has no sense. She is always telling people that I am "out" when I am "in," and "in" when I have told her that I am "out." That was what made the trouble about the bazaar.
I was reckoning up the butcher's book when she came bustling into the room. I have to be careful about the books, because father does not get so much money for his tales as they are worth. He is Mr. Marchant, the great author. My name is Molly, and I have kept house for him and the boys ever since I was a child. Now I am fourteen.
"What have you come bothering about now, Jane?" I asked. The bill was five shillings more than the month before, so I was rather cross.
"Mrs. Cattley to see you, miss."
"Of course you told her I was out?"
Jane jerked her thumb in the direction of the door, and I heard a rustle outside. Mrs. Cattley is the sort of woman that always wears crackling skirts.
"No," she called, in a loud voice. "Jane told me that you were in."
I gave Jane such a look! Then I slipped the butcher's book under something, and got up with my best smile.
"Jane generally does the wrong thing," I explained. "I was so afraid that she had sent you away. Do sit down."
"Umph!" she said. Of course I knew that she did not believe me, and she knew that I knew.
"Bring some tea, please," I told Jane. She walked out, grinning all over her face, and I made up my mind to speak to her when Mrs. Cattley was gone. "Put your cap straight before you come in again." She shut the door with a bang. "You've no idea what a trial servants are."
"I was keeping house before you were born." She shut her mouth with a snap.
"Long before," I agreed. She turned red, and I looked innocent. "So, of course, you know exactly how to manage them." She can never get a servant to stop.
"Things were very different when I was a girl." I hoped that she was different in those days; but I did not tell her so. I have a good deal of tact, father says.
"You never had any trouble with servants, I suppose?" (I have heard that they did not keep any.)
"None whatever." She put up her eyeglasses and stared at me as if she wanted to be contradicted. Fortunately, Jane knocked at the door.
"Come in," I called; but she only opened it a little way and beckoned.
"We ain't got no loaf sugar," she whispered. Her whisper is rather loud.
"Hush!" I shut the door hastily. "You must go to Scales' for a pound."
She shuffled from one foot to the other. She always does that when she is uneasy in her mind.
"'E said as 'e wouldn't let us 'ave nothink more till we settled for wot we'd 'ad." It was only a few little things; but he is a surly man.
"Then go to the new shop round the corner. He doesn't know us, but——"
"'E'll let us 'ave it," said Jane promptly; and off she went.
I beg your pardon for leaving you," I apologised, when I returned. "Jane requires so much telling."
"I should not keep her a month."
"I am sure you would not," I agreed.
Mrs. Cattley pursed her lips and looked at me very hard. Then she sighed, as if she thought me too bad for words.
"I came to see you about the bazaar," she said; "but perhaps I had better speak to your father."
"Oh, no!" I said hastily. "You can tell me." Anybody can persuade father into anything.
"The Rector insisted upon my being on the committee." She seemed very proud about it. "They have unanimously elected me collector."
"Oh!" I made up my mind not to give anything.
"I have come to see what you will subscribe."
"I will ask father," I promised. Of course I did not mean to do anything of the sort!
"Why don't you make something yourself," she said unpleasantly, "instead of troubling poor Mr. Marchant? He must have expenses enough already."
"If you think that," I suggested, "there is no need to trouble him."
"I do not ask my husband for money when—er——"
"I am sure you don't." I am afraid I smiled a little. Every one knows that he has to ask her!
She looked as if she were going to fly at me; but she changed her mind and pretended not to understand.
"I suppose you can make fancy things? When I was your age——"
"I hate making fancy things," I interrupted. I like making them really; but they cost such a lot for material.
"I presume you can sew?" she inquired sarcastically.
"I never do sewing." I do nearly all the mending of the house really; but it wasn't likely I was going to tell her.
"I am afraid that the wish is lacking," she said severely. "Of course, if you choose to be the only persons who do not give anything, you must please yourselves. At the same time I think it my duty to warn you that people will talk."
"It doesn't matter."
"Perhaps not"—she sniffed—"to you. If I were in your place I should study my poor father."
I should have said something rude if I had answered her, so I held my tongue. I don't suppose I manage very well, but I do study father. I promised mother that I would, the last thing of all.
"There are people enough already," she went on, "who speak disparagingly of him, because he is an author."
I laughed. It is called ironical, I believe, the way that I did it.
"Your friends are jealous, because they have not the brains to write," I said. Father has often told me that this is the reason that people run down authors.
"My friends are not people who are in the habit of—er——"
"'Ere's the tea, miss," said Jane, coming in suddenly. "An' the loaf sugar. An' the grocer says will yer be sure an'——"
"That will do, Jane. Put it here, please. How many lumps will you have, Mrs. Cattley?" Jane was beginning again, but I frowned at her so that she went. "Jane is always forgetting to tell me what things have got low."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Cattley. "You can't expect a girl to think of everything!"
Of course she meant that we were always running short; but I pretended not to understand.
"Father has been very successful with his tales lately," I said in a confidential way. "He looks for the postman to come every evening regularly." He says he only goes into the drawing-room to pull down the blinds. "To bring a cheque, you know." Unfortunately it doesn't often come.
"They don't pay very well, I suppose?"
"It depends upon the quality. Father gets a very high rate, of course."
"Then no doubt he will be pleased to subscribe handsomely, if I ask him." She looked very determined.
I did not know what to do. Father cannot bear people to think we are poor; and when he is asked to give he never refuses. I felt sure he would subscribe a sovereign; and the tradesmen were worrying me so about the books.
"You need not trouble," I told her. "I will get something, or make it." I meant to make something—an excuse!
"Thank you, dear." She was quite polite. "Any little thing will do."
"Will it?" I thought at once of some small scarves in Tape and Drape's. They were one and eleven-three.
"So long as it is suitable to your father's position, of course. People naturally expect that every one will give according to his means. I mention these things because you are so young, my dear." She got up.
"It is very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much. Must you really go?"
She said she must. So we embraced one another, and she went. When I embrace Mrs. Cattley, we put our cheeks alongside and a little way off, and kiss the air. It is the proper way—with her!
"I won't give her a thing," I said to myself, as soon as she had gone. The horrible, spiteful old creature!"
I said the same thing to Mrs. Serplis, the new curate's wife, when she called next day. They are no better off than we are; but she is a dear. "I shall say I forgot," I told her; but she shook her head.
"You don't know the artfulness of that woman, Molly."
"What has she done?"
"She is telling everybody that, according to your account, your father is 'getting over his difficulties.' That is how she puts it. She doesn't believe it, she says; but they'll see what sort of a present he gives to the bazaar."
"The hateful woman!" I cried. "She is——"
"She was talking about it in Joynt's, the butcher's, when I passed this morning. Of course I did not listen——"
"Of course not," I agreed.
"But I could not help hearing what she said. Old Mrs. Wilkins heard her say the same thing in Staize's, the costumier's; and Mr. Cattley asked Charlie about it, and said he did so hope it was true."
"I don't think he is to blame," I said.
"My dear, he is to be pitied—poor fellow! But anyhow you see——" she shrugged her shoulders and held up her hands.
"You mean they'll say nasty things if father doesn't give something expensive?"
"That's what I'm afraid of, dear." I drew a long breath. "They shan't. I will give something good somehow. I don't know how I'm going to do it." I felt like crying, but Mrs. Serplis stroked my shoulder.
"Couldn't you get some fancy materials? I'd soon run you up something."
"They cost such a lot."
"I know they do," she sympathised. "I wish we had something to—lend you. But there's the doctor's bill—where we came from: he's been waiting such a time—and the rates just come in." She sighed. "I hardly know what we shall do ourselves, Molly."
I sighed too, and we did not say anything for a few minutes; then she found it was time to go, and we said good-bye. When she says good-bye, I put my arms right round her. It is the proper way—for her!
After I had thought the matter over, I made up my mind to save the money out of the housekeeping, by giving up jam and things that are not really necessary; but the boys grumbled dreadfully. Boys want such a lot to eat, and they don't know any better, poor little chaps! They said something about it too, when father was playing with them, and he gave me four shillings extra.
"Buy the little beggars some goodies, Molly," he said. "Yes, yes, dear! I know you do your best; and a wonderfully good best it is. But you get too much for me, dear. I really don't want bacon for breakfast, and——" I put my hand over his mouth.
"Don't," I said. "Oh, daddy, don't!" Mother always saw that he had things.
However, I promised that they should have some nice cakes. Mrs. Serplis helped me to make them one afternoon, so they came rather cheap. You see, she was one of a large family. I saved one-and-three out of the four shillings. That made five-and-six altogether.
I expected to make it up to nearly half a sovereign the next week; but father was worried because he had not quite enough for the gas bill. It will run up, though I am ever so careful. So I gave him part of my housekeeping money toward it, and tried to put off some of the bills; but the tradespeople were not very nice.
"Seein' as ev'ryone sez as 'ow yer father's doin' better," the butcher told me, "I was expectin' as 'e'd pay orf some of the back owin's. I'm a man wot's got to live, I am." I suppose he has; but he need not do it so disagreeably.
Then there were the boys' boots. Bob's were right out at the toes, and they'd been capped twice and soled half a dozen times. Tommy's were nearly dropping off his feet. He came home crying because the boys at school teased him about them. Boys do not mean to be unkind, but they never think. The shoemaker was very pleasant, and said if I paid for one pair I might owe for the other. I could not expect more than that, because he has a large family, and they are very poor. If we had a lot of money I should like to help them.
A few days before the bazaar Mrs. Cattley sent a printed circular. It was addressed to father, but I opened it. There was a list in it of "Donors who had given handsome presents." In the list I found: "Mr. and Miss Marchant."
I really did not know what to do, so I consulted Jane. Jane is not much use to consult, but Mrs. Serplis was not well, and I felt I must talk to somebody.
"Yer carn't give nothink, w'en yer ain't got nothink to give," Jane said, when she had nearly bitten the end off her apron.
"You always put things so clearly!" I told her. It was ineant to be sarcastic, but she took it for a compliment.
"An' if yer ain't got nothink to give, yer carn't git nothink."
"That is exactly my difficulty."
"The question is, ain't yer got nothink?" She looked at me meaningly.
"What?" I asked. She fidgeted about.
"I've got three-an'-six."
I wouldn't dream of such a thing."
"I don't see——"
I couldn't, Jane. Really I couldn't; though it is very very kind of you." It really was. "Besides, it is not nearly enough."
"No," she agreed. "I don't suppose it ain't. Well, yer'll 'ave to do it out of the 'ousekeepin'."
I shook my head.
"Wot does them boys want with treacle, an' suet puddings, an'——"
"Oh, Jane! They must have something, poor little fellows."
"Greedy little pigs, I call 'em!" Jane does not get on with the boys, because they say her hair is red. It is not red really, but carroty.
"It you cannot speak properly of them, Jane," I said, "you had better hold your tongue."
"Alwus goin' without things for 'em," she grumbled, "you an' the master; stuff an' rubbidge, I call it. Wot I don't 'old with, an'——"
"Last Saturday," I pointed out, "when I had no pennies for sweets, you made them some toffee; and——"
"More fool me!" She bit her apron savagely. "'Owsomever, that ain't neither 'ere nor there."
"No; but you said there was something I could give."
"I didn't say no sich thing."
"Well, you looked it."
"Wot if I did?"
Jane can be very obstinate. I am not obstinate; but I am firm.
"What did you mean?" I insisted. She fidgeted about more than ever. "For goodness' sake, stand still!"
"I was thinkin' of—the doll's dress."
I sank down on a chair. "The doll's dress! Oh, Jane!"
"In course I didn't suppose as 'ow yer would, but—— Don't look like that, Miss Molly. Don't, there's a dear!"
"I—I shall be all right in a minute. It—it isn't that I mind, only—oh, Jane!"
I laid my head down on my arms, and Jane put her hand on my shoulder. It may not be a soft hand, but it is a very kind one.
"I know, dear," she said—and I think she was crying—"I know as yer mother made it, an' no one couldn't 'ave done it lovelier; but——"
What would she think, if—if——"
Jane wiped her eyes fiercely. "She'd rather yer done it a thousand times than she'd 'ave people look down on the master."
I got up from my chair quickly. "You are quite right, Jane. I shall send it to-morrow; and—thank you."
Then I ran upstairs and locked myself in my bedroom. I bathed my eyes before I came down, so that no one should notice. Jane was very nice, and did not grumble, even when I gave the boys a penny each to spend. I thought it would please mother if she knew.
The next morning I took out the doll's dress, and did it up very quickly, and sent Jane round with it. It was a very beautiful dress—white satin worked all over with tiny little silk flowers and leaves. It must have taken mother a long, long time; and I know that she would never have done it if she had not been very fond of me. Even Mrs. Cattley could not find any fault with it, and she wrote to say that she should be surprised if it did not fetch at least a couple of pounds. People could not say things of father after that; so I was glad.
At least, I tried to be glad; but I did not seem very bright somehow. Father asked several times if anything was the matter. He always notices. I told him "Nothing"; but I was afraid that he did not believe me. So I tried my hardest to be cheerful, because he is so quick at guessing anything, and I did not want him to be worried about the dress.
I played with the boys more than usual; and Mrs. Serplis helped me to make them some soldiers' clothes. They were very pleased with them; and when they caught me moping, I said it was only toothache, and they must not tell father, because I did not want to go to the dentist and have it pulled out. So they did not say anything. They are good little fellows, if they are tiresome sometimes, like all boys are.
When the day of the bazaar came, however, I was right down miserable. Of course I would not go to it; and in the afternoon I went to sleep. When I woke up, Jane told me that father had been home, and dressed himself, and gone out again.
"Rare an' smart 'e looked," she said. "I 'ope as 'e ain't got one in 'is eye, wot wouldn't never do for 'im wot you done."
I was so cross that I stamped my foot at her.
"You are a bad, impudent, foolish girl, Jane; and you can take a month's notice."
She stared at me. "No fear, I don't do no sich thing. I know when yer well off, if yer don't yerself."
"It is not your business whether I am well off or not," I told her. "Please leave the room."
She stared at me again. "Lie down on the sofa, Miss Molly," she suggested, "an' let me bring yer some tea. It'll do yer 'ead good. Yer know I didn't mean nothink, an'—there! there! "
"If Jane does silly things sometimes, she never means any harm. That is why I like her, and will not let the boys tease her about her hair.
After I had had some tea, I went to sleep again upon the sofa. At least I should have gone to sleep, only the boys came in from school and jumped on me. They were playing that I was an elephant, when father came in. Then they made believe that he was a tram-car, and climbed up on his shoulders. He said they might have tea with us, if they were extra good. After tea he read two chapters of Robinson Crusoe aloud. Then he gave them some chocolates that he had bought, and Jane took them up to bed.
When they had gone he came and sat beside me. "What is wrong?" he asked, "dear little girl?"
"Nothing, daddy," I said.
He walked up and down the room two or three times. Then he came back and put his arm round me. "Tell me, little mother?" he begged.
So I told him. He blew his nose very hard several times; but he did not speak till I had done.
"I am glad you have told me, dear," he said at last, "but I knew."
"You knew?" I cried. "Who? When?"
"It was Cattley. He—he is a good fellow."
I nodded.
"He came to me this morning and told me about it. He wanted his wife to let him buy it and send it back to you, but she would not. That woman——!" He kicked the footstool suddenly. "I can't say things about a woman, but——"
"I can." I sat up on the sofa. "She is——"
Father held up his hand. "We should pity her, Molly," he said, "for being—what she is! Anyhow, Cattley begged me to accept a couple of sovereigns and buy it for you. He dared not buy it himself, he said, and he was set on your having it. He is a good man."
"A very, very good man," I said.
"Luckily I had no need to borrow. The Whirlwind sent me a cheque for three tales this morning. So I went to the bazaar this afternoon, and I brought back your doll's dress."
"Daddy!" I cried. "Daddy!"
He lit his pipe, but let it out again directly.
"When your mother was finishing that dress, one night"—he seemed to be talking to himself—"I remember teasing her about spending so much time and money on a plaything for a little girl. She smiled up at me—you remember how she used to smile——"
He turned away and pretended to light the pipe again.
"'Isn't she worth it, dear?' she said. 'She always—she'. …"
He stopped suddenly, and I jumped up and put my arms round his neck.
"She thought there was no one like you," I whispered; "and there isn't, daddy dear."
He sighed, and smiled too. "You are just like her, my child," he said. "Just like her!"
I know myself that I am not good, like mother was; but I want him to think so!
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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