On, dear! I ’m in such trouble I don’t know what to say! I heard somebody talking of a Christmas doll to-day! I ’m quite upset about it, for if Santa Claus should bring Another doll to our house, 't would be a dreadful thing! I ’m certain no one wants her, and I don’t see any need, For I am just a Christmas doll myself—I am indeed!
Perhaps you don’t believe it, but I know it cannot be A year since I was hanging on a lovely Christmas tree, And I ’m sure I ’m still a treasure for any little girl— Though my nose is somewhat patted and my hair is out of curl; My broken arm ’s been mended, and the eye that ’s left, you know, Is just as blue and smiling as it was a year ago!
If another doll should come here, all beautifully dressed, And my mama should love her a little bit the best, My heart would just be broken, for little May and I Have been such happy playmates in the year that ’s just gone by! And I ’m very sure no stranger, however fine and new. Could love my little mother as dearly as I do.
No wonder I ’m unhappy! It’s dreadful to be told, “You look forlorn and shabby, and are getting very old,” When you feel so brisk and lively you know it can ’t be true! Oh, dear! I wish that some one would make me something new, And fix me up a little, so nobody would say A Christmas doll was needed for dearest little May!
So if you meet with Santa, do tell him, please, for me, That I and little mother are as happy as can be; That I ’m just as good to play with as any doll you know, And not a minute older than I was a year ago; Tell him not to bring a dolly, whatever he may do, For whoever says we want one, I say it is n ’t true!
