Nothing had been overlooked, not even the family.

It lay on its back, just outside the front door, proud but calm, waiting to be put into possession.

It was not an extensive family.

It consisted of four--papa, and mamma, and baby, and the hired girl; just the family for a beginner.
It was a well-dressed family too--not merely with grand clothes outside, covering a shameful condition of things beneath, such as, alas! is too often the case in doll society, but with every article necessary and proper to a lady or gentleman, down to items that I could not mention.
And all these garments, you must know, could be unfastened and taken off.
I have known dolls--stylish enough dolls, to look at, some of them--who have been content to go about with their clothes gummed on to them, and, in some cases, nailed on with tacks, which I take to be a slovenly and unhealthy habit.

But this family could be undressed in five minutes, without the aid of either hot water or a chisel.
Not that it was advisable from an artistic point of view that any of them should.