The Letter
This little Dolly's name is Christine Braibry.
She was born in Tentoleena Land, where lilies
and red roses grow in the air, and humming-birds
and butterflies on stalks.
You must be kind to Christine, for everything
about her in your land will be very strange to her.
If she seems to stare in a bewildered way, and will
not answer when you ask her why, you must know
that she is simply dazed with the wonders that she
sees on every hand. It will doubtless be a long, long
while before Christine will cease to marvel at the
Sunshine of your strange country; for in Tentoleena
Land there is never any shine but Moonshine,
and sometimes that gets so muddied up with shade
it soils the eyesight to gaze at it overmuch.
It will be trying, in your land, for Christine to
keep silent all the time, for, in your country, Dollies
can not walk and talk at all perfectly, because they
only think they are dreaming all the time, and they
dare not speak for fear their voices will awaken
them, and they dare not move for fear of falling
out of bed. So, you see, you should be very kind
indeed to little Christine Braibry.
In Tentoleena Land the Dollies do not sleep long
—they are always the first ones up at Moon-dawn—
for Moon-dawn is the Dollies' morning. Then they
go out in the fragrant grasses, where the big, ripe
dewdrops grow—much nicer, purer dew than yours on yours
on earth, for in Tentoleena Land they gather it
before it has been skimmed, and all the pearly cream
that gathers on the surface of the drops they stir
up with the rest and bathe in that; and this is why
the Dollies always have such delicate complexions.
Then, when the baths are over, they dress themselves,
and waken their parents, and dress them—
for in Tentoleena Land the parents are the children.
Is not that odd?
Sometime Christine may get used to your strange
land and all the wonders that she sees; and if she
ever does, and smiles at you, and pulls your face
down close to hers and kisses you, why, that will
be the sign by which you'll know she's coming to
again and wants to talk; and so the first thing you
must ask of her is to sing this little song she made
of Tentoleena Land. Only the words of it can be
given here—(not half the beauty of the dainty
song)—for when you hear it, in the marvelously
faint, and low, and sweet, and tender, tinkling
tongue of Tentoleena Land, you will indeed be glad
that the gracious fairy Fortune ever sent you
Christine Braibry.
So, since all the sounds in the melodious utterance
of Tentoleena Land are so exquisitely, so
chastely, rarely beautiful no earthly art may hope to
reproduce them, you must, as you here read the
words, just shut your eyes and fancy that you hear
little Christine Braibry singing this eery song of
hers:—
