A long time ago there were two little girls who lived in a little old farm house, down a winding road, over by a pond, in New England. It was beautiful there, and such fun they had in that litttle old farm house. They had a bedroom upstairs, and from that bedroom you could go up into the attic. The attic was dark and dusty, and cobwebby, but oh, so fun . Every day the girls had to go take a nap. Mother didn't say they had to sleep, they just had to go up and rest and be quiet. Sometimes the girls would go up into the attic and play during nap time.
One late fall day when they were playing in the attic, the girls found a big bag that they hadn't seen before. Making sure that no one was coming up and seeing them, they peeked in the bag. OH! Such a delightful sight! There were two identical boxes. Each box held a doll. A most beautiful, amazing ,perfect brand new doll. A majorette doll! Every little girl wanted a majorette doll that year. It was the thing to have. They had been hinting to mother that all their friends had majorette dolls, and really, mother! They needed one, too. Obviously mother had found them somewhere and was stashing them up here for Christmas!
Christmas was so far away, How could they ever wait that long? They gazed at the dolls. the miniture batons, the boots, the socks, the blue skirts! The white blouses, the red jackets, the jaunty hats! Oh! It was almost as good as being a majorette yourself! Of course, the were only looking at them through plastic. They couldn't really touch them. They would have to stay an unplayed with secret for two whole months.
Faithfully every couple days at nap time, they went up to the attic and took out the boxes and dreamed of the day when they could really play with them. Finally Chriastmas was coming. The little farm house was bustling with fun and secrets and baking. It was full of company and presents and gusts of cold air everytime the door opened, Mother had warned everyone that they could not, under any circumstances go up in the attic, as she had all the presents up there. The girls really did not dare to go up and check on the dolls.
Christmas morning came at last! The Christmas tree glowed in the front room. The star on top seemed to twinkle in the dimness of that early December morning. Presents were piled beneath the tree. The girls tip toed around, whispering, anxious for everyone else to get up. Then the fun began, with father handing out presents, children shouting with joy, paper being ripped and crinkled. The girls took each present with baited breath. There were warm mittens, there was candy, there was dolls, cute baby dolls, but there was no majorette dolls. They kept looking at each other with questioning eyes. Where were they? The last presents had been handed out, and they were not there! What could have happened?
Of course Christmas Day is busy. There was Church to go to, and Grandparents and cousins to visit, and carols to sing, and there was no nap time, and bed time was even late. The girls fell exhausted into bed and fall asleep instantly. The next day it was snowing and every one went sliding and played outside. The new mittens were cozy and the candy was nibbled away.
When mother sent them up to take their nap time, the girls didn't argue, as usual, and beg to stay up and play.They scrambled upstairs and sat on the bed waiting for every thing to quiet down. Then they made the quick dash up to the attic. They stood there for a moment, breathless, half scared...yes! The bag was still there! They grabbed it and looked at each other. "Mother forgot about them!" they said together.
Now what was to be done? They couldn't ask mother about them. She would be angry at them for being up in the attic and digging in things that were none of their business. Things they weren't supposed to know about. No, they best not mention it. They took the dolls down to the bedroom. Oh, they were still just as wonderful! They took them out of the boxes, and they played. Oh, how they played! When nap time was over, they carefully put the dolls back in the bag in the attic and went down stairs. Now every day they waited for nap time, dashing up to their room quickly when mother said. If she ever wondered why the sudden aquiesence to nap time, she never questioned them. Every day they had that glorious hour with the dolls.
The chenille bedspread was the perfect marching field for majorettes, the hollows perfect parade routes. The majorettes practiced and marched and twirled batons for that glorious hour every day, then hidden lovingly back in their attic hideaway.
When summer came, they didn't play with them as much, because they didn't always have to nap. Sometimes they played out side all day and didn't play with them for days at a time. Then something exciting happened! They had out grown the little farm house. Father had sold it, and they were moving to a new big house up the road! It was crazy and exciting to move to a new house, a new bedroom, a new neighborhood. It wasn't until they had been settled in the new house for a few weeks, that the girls remembered the dolls.At the same moment they both sat up in bed in the new room and said, "the majorette dolls! They got left in the attic!" It was very sad. There was no way they could get the dolls back. It was as if a part of their lives had gotten left in the little farm house.
The new people in the farm house had girls, too. They went to school together. They always wanted to ask them about the dolls, but they felt shy about it. Finally after many months went by, they asked about them. "Oh, yes," the new girls said. "They were there in the attic. We played with them, but now they are wrecked, and we threw them out."They wanted to cry, but they wouldn't, not in front of those awful girls who had cared so little for the forgotten dolls that they had ruined them and threw them away! They could never be friends with those girls anymore!
How the years have flown by! The little girls are grandmothers now. They never told their mother about the dolls in the attic. But I heard the story, and we laughed and cried over those lost times. Christmas forever young in memory, dolls still beautiful, marching in their shiny boots and twirling their batons.Can't you hear it? The whisper of the new england wind when the door opens? The smell of Christmas baking? The soft echo of Christmas carols? I do! I do!