Twenty tales by twenty women: From real life in ChicagoAnonymous
General
Twenty tales by twenty women: From real life in Chicago
Anonymous
Chicago (Ill.) -- Moral conditions; Prostitution -- Illinois -- Chicago
“My parents were natives of the New England states. When I was four
years old they removed from our eastern home to a small town in McLean
county, Illinois. My father was a Baptist minister, and I was taught
all the principles of the true Christian and, believe me, I enjoyed the
Sunday-schools, prayer-meetings and all the devotional exercises. Music
always charmed me and when the question arose as to whether or not an
organ should be placed in the church, I think it was due to my influence
over my father that one was installed there, for he opposed it at first.
The most looked for event of the year was Christmas time, for it was the
custom to have a Christmas tree at the church, at which time the music
would excel all other occasions. Once the local paper of our town offered
a fine, large doll (lifelike in every particular) as a prize to the
girl over nine years and under twelve years of age, who would write the
best Christmas story, the stories to be published several weeks before
Christmas. The names of the writers were to be kept secret, while the
patrons of the papers sent in votes denoting their choice; the doll was
given Christmas eve. I think as I now look back over a career that is not
spotless, that the moment when the great wax figure with the big blue
eyes and masses of soft, fluffy hair, the kid body of which was clothed
in the finest array imaginable, was placed in my arms, was the happiest
moment of all my life. I knew I had sent in a story, but never dreamed
of being the winner; my heart was full, my life complete. I had no
longings or dreads; my childish competitors took their defeat like little
women; the next week my parents assisted me in giving my first party and
the invitations were issued only to those dear little friends, who had
competed for the prize; we called it a christening party, for we named
the dollie.
“Tired, aren’t you?” said the girl.
“No—go on!”
“I cannot understand how all this stuff about my dolls, etc., will
interest you.”
“But you have not always played with dolls,” said the man as he elevated
his brows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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