December is the season of giving, and it’s the perfect time to share my very first Hitty storybook for kids. “Hitty’s First Adventure,” is an adaptation of Chapter One from the book Hitty: Her First Hundred Years by Rachel Field, with updated versions of the illustrations by Dorothy Lathrop. I shortened the story and rewrote it for a fourth-grade reading level. The target age is nine to eleven-year-olds. If you know any kids this age, I encourage you to share this link or give them a printed copy of my story. And of course, younger kids may enjoy having the story read to them.
Click here to download the storybook!
If you prefer the teacher’s version, which includes a two-page study guide and a bonus coloring page, go to my Teachers Pay Teachers Store. You don’t have to be a teacher to download the file, but you will need to make a free account.
Once you download the file, you can print it on a color inkjet printer or send it to a copy shop. I had the ten pages printed (double-sided) on 28# copy paper. Then I used a 3-hole punch to put them in a report cover with a clear plastic front, to make a simple book. Now the story is easy to read and enjoy over and over again. Special thanks to my test readers who helped me with the story: Nikki McCaslin, Marilyn Grotzky (and her nieces Madison and Stella), and Linda Doyle.
Flat Hitty is the star of “Hitty’s First Adventure.” I would love for kids to make their own Flat Hitty dolls to help them enjoy the story. The easiest one to make is the basic Flat Hitty with the white outline, but you can also make a double-sided Extra Credit Flat Hitty. There is even a black and white version of Flat Hitty to color on the Teachers Pay Teachers website.
Here is a letter from Flat Hitty introducing the real Hitty doll in the Stockbridge Library:
Dear Friends,
Have you heard of my Great-Aunt Hitty? She is a tiny wooden doll who lives in the Stockbridge Library in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. In 1928, Rachel Field and her friend, Dorothy Lathrop, found Hitty in an antique store in New York City. They began to daydream about all the adventures she must have had. Rachel wrote her story which Dorothy illustrated. The result was the book Hitty: Her First Hundred Years, and it won the Newbery Award for children’s literature in 1930.
Great-Aunt Hitty doesn’t travel anymore. She is nearly 200 years old and seems quite content to sit on her gray bench in the library. Whenever I visit, I love hearing about her adventures. I know her story by heart: how the Old Peddler carved Hitty from a piece of mountain ash wood for seven-year-old Phoebe Preble. It was in the dead of winter in Maine… but I am getting ahead of myself.
The original Hitty book had mostly black and white illustrations. Great-Aunt Hitty explained how she patiently posed as Dorothy drew each one. I thought it would be fun to create new color illustrations, so I asked Great-Aunt Hitty if she would be willing to pose again. She smiled and said, “My joints are too old and fragile now, but that sounds like the perfect project for you.”
I am happy to be a stand-in for Great-Aunt Hitty to help illustrate her story. I hope you enjoy “Hitty’s First Adventure!
Love,
Flat Hitty
Hitty’s First Adventure
© Copyright 2025 by Wendi Dunn
In January during the year 1828, the Old Peddler carved me as a gift for seven-year-old Phoebe Preble. He was staying with the Preble family after getting caught in a snowstorm.
“See, now the doll has a face!” Those were the first words I heard from Phoebe. She was a lively girl with curly golden hair and sea green eyes.
Standing next to her was an old man with a white beard. “She will bring you luck, Phoebe,” he said. “I carved her out of a piece of magical mountain ash wood that I brought with me from Ireland.”
That scene happened in Maine a long time ago. Since then, I have had many adventures all over the world. Now I sit quietly on a desk in an antique shop, waiting for someone to buy me. Next to me is an old quill pen and an inkwell. That gives me an idea. I can use this time to write my story.
Phoebe called me “Hitty,” because my original name, “Mehitabel,” took too long to say. Phoebe lived with her mother and Andy, a boy who helped out with chores on their farm in Maine. Her father was a sea captain, and he was away on a voyage.
Mrs. Preble told Phoebe she must make me some clothes before she could play with me. Phoebe made my underwear from white linen trimmed with lace. Mrs. Preble used red thread to stitch my name in tiny letters on my undershirt.
“Now, whatever happens to her she can always be sure of her name,” said Mrs. Preble.
“But nothing is ever going to happen to her, Mother!” cried Phoebe, “because she will always be my doll.”
Phoebe made my dress from pretty yellow calico fabric printed with tiny pink roses. She finished it on a Saturday evening. Sadly, her mother said it was too late to play with me.
The next day, Phoebe started to reach for me. Then she told me, “No, Hitty, this is Sunday, and I must not play with you until after sunset tonight.” Phoebe’s family had very strict rules about Sundays. No toys were allowed, but she found me too hard to resist. She picked me up and placed me in her muff: a tube made out of fur to keep her hands warm.
“No one will guess that you are in my muff, Hitty,” whispered Phoebe. It felt warm and cozy, but rather cramped with her hands inside. Mrs. Preble did not notice me as she helped Phoebe up into the horse-drawn sleigh. Soon I could hear the tinkling of sleigh bells and the sound of Charlie the horse pulling the sleigh through the snow.
I could not see what was happening at church. But I could hear the people as they started to sing together in harmony:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below…
Then the preacher began his sermon. Phoebe started to squirm. After a while, she must have fallen asleep, because her grip on the muff slipped. I fell headfirst to the floor, and the muff rolled away. Andy picked up the muff and gave it to Phoebe. He didn’t see me under the pew.
When the church service was over, everyone left. No one knew that I had been left behind.
During the lonely days and nights that followed, I felt my wooden joints crack with the cold. The wind howled outside.
I had nothing to do except look at an illustrated Bible on the floor beside me. It showed a scary picture of a man being swallowed by a whale.
Then there were the bats. One roosted under the pew just inches away from me. I was watching him when I saw a man enter the church. He started to sweep the floor with his broom. I tried to get his attention by waving my mitten-shaped hands, but he was too far away to notice. Then I lifted my legs and lowered my pegged feet to the floor three times.
Clomp! Clomp! Clomp!
In the empty church it made a very loud noise. The man was so startled that he dropped his broom.
“It’s a ghost!” he yelled as he ran out of the church. Now I felt more alone than ever.
Before the week ended, Phoebe told her mother what she had done. Andy and the Old Peddler went to the church and brought me home. No quill pen could express my joy at being with my family again!
Phoebe’s punishment was to stitch a motto in her sampler about how to be good. This took her many days to finish. I was left on a shelf until the final stitch was put in.
Spring was late that year. The roads thawed out in March, but all the mud kept the Old Peddler from traveling. In May the first pussy willows bloomed. Buds appeared on the lilac bushes, and we saw yellow and blue violets. We gathered tiny star-shaped mayflowers in the woods near the farm.
Finally, it was time for the Old Peddler to leave us. Phoebe and Andy walked with him to the road that led to Portland. He lifted his heavy backpack and waved goodbye to them.
Not long after that, Phoebe’s father came home. Captain Preble arrived in a carriage overflowing with large boxes, bales and sea chests. They were all stuffed with treasures from every port of call.
Phoebe rushed over to him, saying, “This is my new doll, Hitty.” Then she told him how the Old Peddler had carved me from mountain ash wood and about my adventure in the church. Captain Preble laughed hard when he heard the story.
“It isn’t a laughing matter, Dan’l,” said Mrs. Preble. “You will have Phoebe spoiled as a popinjay inside a week.” A popinjay must be a very rare type of bird. I have not seen a single one in all my years since.
