Adah Louise Sutton 
A Little Maid in Toyland 

THE doll’s house stood in the most convenient corner of the nursery, having, like Noah’s dove, found rest only after a somewhat varied and tempestuous experience. Sally had not been at all able to make up her mind just what location suited her best, and the house had patiently traveled, or, in other words, had been propelled by the united efforts of Bob and Sally—“The corporal pushed and the sergeant pulled”—the one dragging, the other pushing, from corner to corner and from side to side of the spacious room. Not a piece of furniture but had been moved out of the way that the doll’s house might stand in its place, and was as methodically moved back again when the building resumed its travels. Never did it remain in one place for longer than twenty-four hours, much to the disgust and terror of its inmates, who were frequently joggled from their chairs and tilted out of bed as their domicile renewed its pilgrimage. They concluded by naming it the Walking House, which certainly seemed appropriate enough under existing circumstances.