I did not know with whom, or when-in the way of guests, or dolls, I had little agency in such matters-but I was secretly excited to know I’d be near the actual Preble House, where Hitty was “born,” and where, today, you can buy a flat, wooden Hitty doll that is “slept” one night in the historic home before being sold. That evening, as it happened, we were to travel by motorboat to Cranberry Island. In the course of her travels, she bears witness to the events of the nineteenth century, all of which she relates with serene pragmatism, in the manner of a doll Forrest Gump. But Hitty is born in Maine, specifically on Cranberry Island, some two nautical miles from the library itself.

Hitty is an imagined history of a small doll carved from a piece of mountain ash-inspired by a real doll that its author, Rachel Field, found in a New York City antiques shop-which takes its heroine around the globe via whaling vessel and Missisippi river boat, and in the custody of many different children. I knew they would have it, not just because it won the Newbery in 1930 and is considered a classic, but because it is one of the great Maine children’s books. I took a left at an enormous stuffed mouse and ran my finger along the “F” shelf in chapter books until I came upon my quarry: Hitty, Her First Hundred Years. But I went down the hall, past the mat where very young children have story time.

It is always awkward to be the only adult in the children’s room, and repetition does not make it any easier. Patrons who wish to memorialize their visit may buy “postal cards,” which are subcategorized accurately under such headings as “Circulation Area” and “Reference Desk.” I bought six for a dollar. On Saturday, in Maine, I rode my bicycle the mile and a half to the very comfortable Northeast Harbor Library, which contains well-stocked “Maine” and “Garden” rooms it’s currently showcasing a collection of antique “woolies,” folk-art embroideries made by extremely secure nineteenth-century sailors.

Hitty her first hundred years