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Updated: May 1, 2025
And this other little Nannette never tires of hearing the romantic story of the indolent "Didy" and the "real little live baby that will cry." Molly was six years old; a plump, roly-poly little girl with long, crimpy golden hair and great blue eyes. She had ever so many brothers; Fred, a year older than herself, and who went to the Kindergarten with her, was her favorite.
So Nannette, in a clean pink frock and white apron, playing and chatting with her big, wax "Didy," which was her doll's name, formed a pretty picture to the passers-by, some of whom walked slowly, in order to hear the child's talk to her doll. "You'se a big, old girl," she went on, smoothing out Didy's petticoats, "and I've had you for ever and ever, and I'se mos' six. But you grow no bigger.
Presently a woman came along with a bundle in her arms, and seeing Nannette and "Didy" in the doorway, went up the steps and asked the little girl if she would not like to have a real little live baby. "One that will cry?" eagerly asked Nannette.
There, now sit up, can't you? Your back is like a broken stick. Oh, hum, I'm tired of you, Didy." Leaving the doll leaning in a one-sided way against the door, Nannette posed her dimpled chin in her hands, and sat quietly looking into the street.
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