Jan 15, 2019 6 min read

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¦ CHAPTER EIGHT

The doll

The story so far: While looking through an old mirror in Aunt Sarah’s attic, Sally feels herself becoming the other Sally from the past, whose mother is leading her to a surprise.

They went out of the room, across the flower-covered carpet of the upstairs hall, and off down the stairs, while the grandfather clock ticked and ticked. Sally’s dream faded away as they pushed through the bead curtains and went through the parlor, where the gaslights on the walls sputtered a pleasant little tune to the faint accompaniment of the whispering melodeon. In almost every room of the house, a fire purred like a living thing. And all around, the snow was falling softly. How cozy and pleasant it was in here, and how lovely to be hurrying toward a surprise. “What do you suppose it is, Elizabeth?” Sally asked, hugging the little doll. But Elizabeth, if she knew, did not say.

“Will I like it?” she asked her mother.

“I think so,” said her mother.

As they passed the round dining-room table, Sally caught a glimpse of herself reflected in its shining surface, and she wondered, with just the edge of her mind, what if the girl in there was a real girl, and she was just a reflection?

“What funny things I’m thinking tonight,” she said to Elizabeth.

Then they were pushing through the door into the warm kitchen.

The front of the black iron woodstove glowed red. The comfortable smell of simmering soup swirled about the kitchen from the iron kettle at the back of the stove. A tremendous crackling and crashing of logs issued from the flaming throat of the stone fireplace. If the smaller fireplaces purred, this one roared. The ticking of the little church clock on the mantel could not even be heard.

Sally’s father was kneeling on the hearth, bending over something that she could not see. Plump Mrs. Perkins was holding Sally’s baby brother Bub in her arms. His pink fists were waving in the firelight, and his mouth was screwed up and making the odd bubbling sounds for which he was famous.

“But where is the surprise?” Sally asked, feeling as if she would burst into sparks like the fireplace logs if they did not tell her soon.

Sally’s father motioned to her and moved to let her in beside him.

And there, on the hearth, in a round basket, lay Sally’s black cat Mrs. Niminy Piminy, curled comfortably around three very new kittens, whose eyes were tightly closed, but from whose tiny mouths came weak little mewing noises. Mrs. Niminy Piminy looked lazily up at Sally and blinked proudly. Her pink tongue darted out to lick the tiny round head of the orange kitten. The striped gray one rolled over on its back and mewed, waving its stubby legs in the air.

“Oh!” cried Sally, and she dropped Elizabeth, who fell with her chin on the edge of the basket, so that she was staring directly into the face of a very, very tiny all-black kitten. One of her soft cotton hands rested gently on the kitten’s small head.

“Oh, look,” cried Sally, “Elizabeth’s chosen that one. It will have to be hers! Oh, Mrs. Niminy Piminy, how beautiful they are!” And she gently stroked the head of her dear old cat, who purred a deep rolling purr that clearly expressed the utmost pride and satisfaction in her new family.

Sally petted and admired the kittens to her heart’s content. Far above her the voices of the grown-ups murmured, mingling with the crackling of the fire, till it was hard to distinguish the various sounds from one another.

So it was that Sally, thoroughly happy, fell asleep by the fire, one hand still resting on Mrs. Niminy Piminy’s soft fur.

Sally stirred and sighed when she felt a hand upon her shoulder.

“Sally,” whispered a voice that seemed to be coming from very far away. Then “Sally,” it said again. She opened one eye and smiled sleepily.

She closed the eye again immediately, for it seemed to her that it was Aunt Sarah who was bending over her, shaking her shoulder.

“Come, Sally,” said what was unmistakably the voice of Aunt Sarah. “You’re awake now. Stand up.”

Sally opened both eyes this time. Yes, it was indeed Aunt Sarah, looking very cross.

“Why, Mrs. Niminy Piminy,” Sally said sleepily in surprise. For a black cat was curled up in the crook of her arm, purring quite happily. “You came with me.” She rubbed her cheek against the cat’s silky fur.

“Shadow seems to have taken a liking to you,” said Aunt Sarah gruffly.

“Shadow!” cried Sally, and this time she sat up and stared down at Shadow, who blinked up at her in what seemed to be a surprisingly friendly manner. She smiled back at him rather timidly, and then hesitantly reached out and touched the top of his head gently with the tips of her fingers. Shadow purred and rubbed his head against her fingers.

“I didn’t think you liked cats, Sally,” said Aunt Sarah.

Sally peeked up at Aunt Sarah and smiled shyly. “Oh, but I do,” she said. And I’m not afraid of Shadow anymore, she thought.

But where was Mrs. Niminy Piminy? She looked into the mirror, but all that she saw was herself, and Shadow, and Aunt Sarah.

“Oh,” she sighed, “it must have been a dream.”

“It must have been a good dream,” said Aunt Sarah. “You looked happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Oh, it was good,” said Sally eagerly. “It was all about the other Sally, and Mrs. Niminy Piminy and the kittens.”

Her aunt was staring down at her. Sally’s heart jolted. She remembered that her aunt had told her not to come to the attic. Sally looked down at the clothes she was wearing. Aunt Sarah must be furious with her for putting them on and for taking all the things out of the trunk. Her eyes turned miserably to the untidy piles on the floor.

NEXT WEEK: The mystery