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We were going, on Saturday, ever so far,-- My mamma and I,--to the Dollies' Bazaar, Where fifty wax dollies,--the loveliest show, Went walking about when they wound 'em, you know. You wouldn't believe half the things they could do: Why, one said "Good morning," as plainly as you. One played the piano, and one, dressed in lace, Walked up to a mirror and powdered her face. Well, when we were ready we stepped in the hall, And there was a lady a-coming to call. She said she just chanced to be passing that way, And she really had only a minute to stay. We waited and waited, and hoped she would go, Till I saw it was almost the time for the show, For I heard the clocks striking all over the town, And I knew that the dollies would all be run down. And so I just said, "I should s'pose, Mrs. Black, Your little girl wonders why don't you come back." That's all that I spoke, every 'dentical word; But she said, "Little girls should be seen and not heard." I guess that's a proverb, so maybe 'tis true; But, if people won't see, what can little girls do? My mamma looked queer, but that ended the call, And we went to the Dollies' Bazaar, after all. |
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