PAGE 13
The Land Of Lost Toys
by
“I have returned to the spot many times since, but I never could induce a beetle to enter into conversation on the subject, the hole remains obstinately impassable, and I have not been able to repeat my visit to the Land of Lost Toys.
“When I recall my many sins against the playthings of my childhood, I am constrained humbly to acknowledge that perhaps this is just as well.”
* * * * *
SAM SETS UP SHOP.
“I think you might help me, Dot,” cried Sam, in dismal and rather injured tones.
It was the morning following the day of the earthquake, and of Aunt Penelope’s arrival. Sam had his back to Dot, and his face to the fire, over which indeed he had bent for so long that he appeared to be half roasted.
“What do you want?” asked Dot, who was working at a doll’s night-dress that had for long been partly finished, and now seemed in a fair way to completion.
“It’s the glue-pot,” Sam continued. “It does take so long to boil. And I have been stirring at the glue with a stick for ever so long to get it to melt. It is very hot work. I wish you would take it for a bit. It’s as much for your good as for mine.”
“Is it?” said Dot.
“Yes, it is, Miss,” cried Sam. “You must know I’ve got a splendid idea.”
“Not another earthquake, I hope?” said Dot, smiling.
“Now, Dot, that’s truly unkind of you. I thought it was to be forgotten.”
“So it is,” said Dot, getting up. “I was only joking. What is the idea?”
“I don’t think I shall tell you till I have finished my shop. I want to get to it now, and I wish you would take a turn at the glue-pot.”
Sam was apt to want a change of occupation. Dot, on the other hand, was equally averse from leaving what she was about till it was finished, so they suited each other like Jack Sprat and his wife. It had been an effort to Dot to leave the night-dress which she had hoped to finish at a sitting; but when she was fairly set to work on the glue business she never moved till the glue was in working order, and her face as red as a ripe tomato.
By this time Sam had set up business in the window-seat, and was fastening a large paper inscription over his shop. It ran thus:–
* * * * *
MR. SAM.
Dolls’ Doctor and Toymender to Her Majesty
the Queen, and all other Potentates.
* * * * *
“Splendid!” shouted Dot, who was serving up the glue as if it had been a kettle of soup, and who looked herself very like an over-toasted cook.
Sam took the glue, and began to bustle about.
“Now, Dot, get me all the broken toys, and we’ll see what we can do. And here’s a second splendid idea. Do you see that box? Into that we shall put all the toys that are quite spoiled and cannot possibly be mended. It is to be called the Hospital for Incurables. I’ve got a placard for that. At least it’s not written yet, but here’s the paper, and perhaps you would write it, Dot, for I am tired of writing, and I want to begin the mending.”
“For the future,” he presently resumed, “when I want a doll to scalp or behead, I shall apply to the Hospital for Incurables, and the same with any other toy that I want to destroy. And you will see, my dear Dot, that I shall be quite a blessing to the nursery; for I shall attend the dolls gratis, and keep all the furniture in repair.”
Sam really kept his word. He had a natural turn for mechanical work, and, backed by Dot’s more methodical genius, he prolonged the days of the broken toys by skilful mending, and so acquired an interest in them which was still more favourable to their preservation. When his birthday came round, which was some months after these events, Dot (assisted by Mamma and Aunt Penelope) had prepared for him a surprise that was more than equal to any of his own “splendid ideas.” The whole force of the toy cupboard was assembled on the nursery table, to present Sam with a fine box of joiner’s tools as a reward for his services, Papa kindly acting as spokesman on the occasion.
And certain gaps in the china tea-set, some scars on the dolls’ faces, and a good many new legs, both amongst the furniture and the animals, are now the only remaining traces of Sam’s earthquake.