clothes weren’t white after all. 
However, we hung them out in our drying-ground in the garden, which
we made with dahlia-sticks and long strings,
And then Dash went and knocked over one of the posts, and down in the
dirt went our things! 
So we washed them again and hung them on the towel-horse, and most of
them came all right,
But Victoria’s muslin dress—­though I rinsed it again and again—­will
never dry white! 
And the grease-spots on Mary’s doll’s dress don’t seem to come out, and
we can’t think how they got there;
Unless it was when we made that Macassar-oil, because she has
real hair. 
I knew mine was going to the wash, but I’m sorry I used it as a duster
before it went;
We think dirty clothes perhaps shouldn’t be too dirty before they
are sent. 
We had sad work in trying to make the starch—­I wonder what the Queen
does with hers? 
I stirred mine up with a candle, like Sally, but it only made it worse;
So we had to ask Mamma’s leave to have ours made by Nurse. 
Nurse makes beautiful starch—­like water-arrowroot when you’re ill—­in
a minute or two. 
It’s a very odd thing that what looks so easy should be so difficult
to do! 
Then Mary put the iron down to heat, but as soon as she’d turned
her back,
A jet of gas came sputtering out of the coals and smoked it black. 
We dared not ask Sally for another, for we knew she’d refuse it,
So we had to clean this one with sand and brown-paper before we
could use it. 
It was very hard work, but I rubbed till I made it shine;
Yet as soon as it got on a damped “fine thing” it left a brown line. 
I rubbed it for a long, long time before it would iron without a mark,
But it did at last, and we finished our Dolls’ Wash just before dark.

* * * * *

Sally’s very kind, for she praised our wash, and she has taken away
Victoria’s dress to do it again; and I really must say
She was right when she said, “You see, young ladies, a week’s wash
isn’t all play.” 
Our backs ache, our faces are red, our hands are all wrinkled, and
we’ve rubbed our fingers quite sore;
We feel very sorry for Sally every week, and we don’t mean to dirty
our dresses so much any more.

[Illustration]

HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS.

Father is building a new house, but I’ve had one given to me for
my own;
Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be glass,
and the chimney yellow, like stone. 
Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I
had before, and the pestle-and-mortar;
And Mother gave me the jam-pot when it was empty; it’s rather big, but
it’s the only pot we have that will really hold water. 
We—­that is I and Jemima, my doll. (For it’s a Doll’s House, you know,
Though some of the things are real, like the nutmeg-grater,