"You don't feel in a hurry to die, I hope," said Miss Polly, anxiously.
Katie's eager face clouded. "No," said she, sorrowfully; "I want to, but I hate to go up to God and leave my pink dress. I can't go into it then, I'll be so little."
"You'll be just big enough to go into the pocket," laughed Dotty.
"Hush!" said Miss Polly, gravely; "you shouldn't joke upon such serious subjects. Good by, children. Your house is full of company, and I didn't come to stay. Here's a bag of thoroughwort I've been picking for your grandmother; you may give it to her with my love, and tell her my side is worse. I shall be in to-morrow."
So saying, Miss Polly went away, seeming to be wafted out of the room on a sigh.
The high-chair was brought down fromthe attic for Flyaway, who sat in it that evening at the tea-table, and smiled round upon her friends in the most benevolent manner.
"I's growing so big now, mamma," said she, coaxingly, "don't you spect I must have some tea?"
Grandmother pleaded for the youngest, too. "Let me give her some just this once, Maria."
"Well,whitetea, then," returned Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "and will Flyaway remember not to ask for it again? Mamma thinks little girls should drink milk."
"Yes'm, I won't never. She gives it to methisnight, 'cause I's her littlegrand-girl. Mayn't Hollis have it too, 'cause he's her little grand-boy?"
"Cunning as ever, you see," whispered the admiring Horace to cousin Susy, who replied, rather indifferently,—
"No cunninger than our Prudy used to be."
Flyaway made quick work of drinking her white tea, and when she came to the last few drops she swung her cup round and round, saying,—
"Didn't you know, Hollis, that's the way gampa does, whenhegets most froo, to make it sweet?"
No, Horace had not noticed; it was "Fly, with her little eye," who saw everything, and made remarks about it.
"O, O," cried Grace, dropping her knife and fork, and patting her hands softly under the table, "isn't it so nice to be at Willowbrook again, taking supper together? Doesn't it remind you of pleasant things, Susy, to eat grandma's cream toast?"
"Reminds me," said Susy, after reflecting, "of jumping on the hay."
"'Minds me of—of—" remarked Flyaway; and there she fell into a brown study, with her head swaying from side to side.
"I don't know why it is," said Prudy, "but since you spoke, this cream toast makes me think of the rag-bag. Excuse me for being impolite, grandma, but whereisthe rag-bag?"
"In the back room, dear, where it always is; and you may wheel it off to-morrow."
It had been Mrs. Parlin's custom, once or twice every summer, to allow the children to take the large, heavy rag-bag to the store, and sell its contents for little articles, which they divided among themselves. Sometimes the price of the rags amounted to half or three quarters of a dollar, and there was a regular carnival of figs, candy, and fire-crackers.
Horace was so much older now, that he did not fancy the idea of being seen in the street, trundling a wheelbarrow; but he went on with his cream toast and made no remark.
Next morning there was a loud call from the three Parlins for the rag-bag, in which Flyaway joined, though she hardly knew the difference between a rag-bag and a paper of pins.
"I wish you to understand, girls," said Horace, flourishing his hat, "that I'm not going to cart round any such trash for you this summer."
"Now, Horace!"
"You know, Gracie, you belong to a Girls' Rights' Society. Do you suppose I want to interfere with your privileges?"
"Why, Horace Clifford, you wouldn't see your own sister trundling a wheelbarrow?"
"O, no; I shan't be there," said Horace, coolly; "I shan't see you. I promised to weed the verbena bed for your aunt Louise. Good by, girls. Success to the rag-bag!"
"Let's catch him!" cried Susy, darting after her ungallant cousin; but he ran so fast, and flourished his garden hoe so recklessly, that she gave up the chase.
"Let him go," said Grace, with a fine-lady air: "who cares about rag-bags? We've outgrown that sort of thing, you and I, Susy; let the little girls have our share."
"Yes, to be sure," replied Susy, faintly, though not without a pang, for she still retained a childish fondness for jujube paste, and was not allowed a great abundance ofpocket-money. "Yes, to be sure, let thelittlegirls have our share."
"Then may we three youngest have the whole rag-bag?" said Prudy, brightly. "Dotty, you and I will trundle the wheelbarrow, and Fly shall go behind."
"What an idea!" exclaimed Grace. "I've seen little beggar children drawing a dog-cart. Grandma'll never allow such a thing."
"Indeed I will," said grandma, tying on her checked apron. "Dog-carts or wheel-barrows, so they only take care not to be rude. In a city it is different."
"Yes, grandma," said Dotty, twisting her front hair joyfully; "but here in the country they want little girls to have good times—don't they? Why don't everybody move into the country, do you s'pose? Lots of bare spots round here,—nothing on 'em but cows."
"Yes, nuffin' but gampa's cows," chimed in Flyaway, twistingherfront hair.
"Louisa," said Mrs. Parlin, "you may help me about this loaf of 'Maine plum cake,' and while you are beating the butter and sugar I will look over the rag-bag. Dotty, please run for my spectacles."
When Dotty returned with the spectacles, Jennie Vance came with her, pouting a little at the cool reception she had met, and thinking Miss Dimple hardly polite because she was too much interested in an old rag-bag to pay proper attention to visitors.
"Grandma, what makes you pick over these rags? We can take them just as they are."
"I always do so, my dear, and for several reasons. One is, that woollen pieces may have crept in by mistake. As weprofess to sell cotton rags, it would be dishonest to mix them with woollen."
"Yes'm, I understand," said Jennie, who often spoke when it was quite as well to keep silent; "it's always best to be honest—isn't it, Mrs. Parlin?"
The rags were spread out upon the table, giving Flyaway a fine opportunity to scatter them right and left.
"O, here's a splendid piece of blue ribbon to make my doll a bonnet," said Dotty.
"That's another reason why she picks 'em over," remarked Jennie; "so she won't waste things. Only, Dotty, that has got an awful grease-spot."
"There, children," said Mrs. Parlin, presently, "I have taken out a card of hooks and eyes, a flannel bandage, and a shoe-string. You may have everything else."
Dotty caught her grandmother's arm."Please, grandma, don't sweep 'em into the bag; let us look some more. I've just found a big Lisle glove; if I can find another, then Abner can go blackberrying; he says his hands are ever so tender."
"And you thought he was in earnest," said Prudy. "While you are looking, I'll go into the nursery and finish that holder."
Flyaway, having climbed upon the table, had rolled herself into some mosquito netting, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. They were all so much interested, that grandma, in the kindness of her heart, did not like to disturb them.
"You are welcome to all the treasures you can find, but as soon as the cake is made I shall want the table; so be quick," said she, looking out from the pantry, where she was beating eggs.
"Yes, indeed, grandma, we'll hurry; and may we have every single thing we like the looks of? now, honest."
"Yes, Dotty."
Then Mrs. Parlin and Miss Louise talked about currants, and citron, and quite forgot such trifles as rag-bags.
"Here's another big glove," said Dotty, "not the same color, but no matter; and here are some saddle-bags, Jennie. I'm going to be a doctor."
"Saddle-bags, Dotty! those are pockets." Jennie took them from Miss Dimple's hands. They were held together by a narrow strip of brown linen, and had once belonged to a pair of pantaloons.
"I'm going to see if there isn't something inside," said Jennie. "Why, yes, here's a raisin, true's you live. And here, in the other one,—O, Dotty!"
But Dotty had run into the nursery to show Prudy a muslin cap.
"A wad of—"
Jennie was determined to see what; so she unrolled it.
"Scrip," cried she, holding up some greenbacks.
"Skipt," echoed Flyaway, who had come out of the cocoon and gone into the form of a mop, her head adorned with cotton fringe.
Yes; a two dollar bill and a one dollar bill, as green as lettuce leaves. This was a great marvel. Columbus was not half so much surprised when he discovered America.
"Mrs. Parlin, do you hear?"
But Mrs. Parlin heard nothing, for the din of the egg-beating drowned both the shrill little voices.
A sudden idea came to Jennie. Whose money was this? Mrs. Parlin's? No; hadn't Mrs. Parlin looked over the rags once, and said the children might have what was left? "'You are welcome to all the treasures you can find;' that was what she said," repeated Jennie to herself. "I'm the one that found this treasure,—not Dotty, not Flyaway. This is honest, and I do not lie when I say it."
Jennie began to tremble, and a hot color flew into her cheeks, and added new lustre to her black eyes. "If I could only make Flyaway forget it," thought she, with a whirling sensation of anger towards the innocent child, who knew no better than to proclaim aloud every piece of news she heard. "I'll make her forget it." Jenny hastily concealed the money in the neck of her dress.
"Where's that skipt? that skipt?" said Flyaway.
"Fly Clifford," said Jennie, severely, "you've climbed on the table! Just think of it! Your grandmother doesn't allow you on her table. What made you get up here."
"'Cause," replied Flyaway, seizing the kitty by the tail, and thrusting her into a cabbage-net, "'cause I fought best."
"But you must get right down, this minute."
"No," said Flyaway, shaking her head-dress of white fringe with great solemnity; "I isn't goin' to get down."
"Ah, but you must."
Flyaway opened and shut her eyes slowly, in token of deep displeasure. "I don't never 'low little girls to scold to me," said she. "You'd better call grandma; 'hapsshecan make me get down."
But it was not Jennie's purpose to wait for that; she seized the little one roughly by the arms, pulled her from the table, and hurried her into the parlor.
Flyaway was indignant. "Does you—feel happy?" said she, with a reproachful glance at Jennie.
"There, look out of the window, Flyaway, darling, and watch to see if Horace isn't coming in from the garden."
"Can't Hollis come, 'thout me watching him?" returned Flyaway, winking slowly again, for her sweet little soul was stirred with wrath. The memory of the "skipt" had indeed been driven away, and she could only think,—
"Isn't Jennie so easy fretted! I wasn't doin' nuffin'; and then she jumped me right down. Unpolite gell! that's one thing."
And Jennie was thinking, "She never'll remember the money now, or, if she does, I don't believe Mrs. Parlin will pay any attention to what she says." Jennie was still very much excited, and wondered why she trembled so.
"I don't mean to keep it unless it's perfectly proper," thought she; "I guess I know the eighth commandment fast enough. I shan't keep it unless Dotty thinks best. I'll tell her, and see what she says."
Jennie had often pilfered little things from her mother's cupboard, such as cake and raisins; but a piece of money of the most trifling value she had never thought of taking before.
Leaving Flyaway busy with block houses, she ran to the nursery door, and motioned with her finger for Dotty to come out.
"What is it?" said Dotty, when they were both shut into the china closet;"don't you want my sister Prudy to know?"
Jennie replied, in a great flutter, "No, no, no. You musn't tell a single soul, Dotty Dimple, as long as you live, and I'll give you half."
"Half what?"
Jennie produced the money from her bosom, feeling, I am glad to say, very guilty. "Out o' those saddle-bag pockets out there," added she, breathlessly; "true's the world."
"Why, Jennie Vance!"
"One had a raisin in and a button, and nobody but me would have thought of looking. You wouldn't—now would you? My father says I've got such sharp eyes!"
"H'm!" said Dotty, who considered her own eyes as bright as any diamonds; "you took the saddle-bag right out of my hand.How do you know I shouldn't have peeked in?"
Jennie did not reply, but smoothed out the wrinkled notes with many a loving pat.
"What did grandma say?" asked Dotty; "wasn't she pleased?"
"Your grandmother doesn't know anything about it, Dotty Dimple; what business is it to her?"
Jennie's tone was defiant. She assumed a courage she was far from feeling.
Dotty was speechless with surprise, but her eyes grew as round as soap-bubbles.
"The pockets don't belong to her, Dotty, and never did. They never came out of any of her dresses—now did they?"
Dotty's eyes swelled like a couple of bubbles ready to burst.
"Jennie Vance, I didn't know you's a thief."
"You stop talking so, Dotty. She was going to sweep everything into the rag-bag—now wasn't she? And this money would have gone in too, if it hadn't been for my sharp eyes—now wouldn't it?"
"But it isn't yours, Jennie Vance—because it don't belong to you."
"Now, Dotty—"
"You go right off, Jennie Vance, and carry it to my grandma this minute."
The tone of command irritated Jennie. She had not felt at all decided about keeping the money, but opposition gave her courage. Her temper and Dotty's were always meeting and striking fire.
"It isn't your grandma's pockets, Miss Parlin. If it was the last word I was to speak, it isn't your grandmother's pockets!"
"Jane Sidney Vance!"
"You needn't call me by my middlename, and stare so at me, Dotty Dimple. I was going to give you half!"
"What do I want of half, when it isn't yours to give?" said Dotty, gazing regretfully at the money, nevertheless. Three dollars! Why, it was a small fortune! If it only did really belong to Jenny!
"Your grandmother said everything we liked the looks of, Dotty. Don't you like the looks of this?"
"But you know, Jennie—"
"O, you needn't preach to me. You wasn't the one that found it. If I'd truly been a thief, or if I hadn't been a thief, it would have been right for me to keep it, and perfectly proper, and not said a word to you, either; so there."
"Jennie Vance, I'm going right out of this closet, and tell my grandma what you've said."
"Wait, Dotty Dimple; let me get through talking. I meant to buy things for your grandmother with it. O, yes, I did—a silk dress, and cap, and shoes."
Dotty twirled her hair, and looked thoughtful.
"Of course I did. Wouldn't it surprise her, when she wasn't expecting it? And Flyaway, too,—something for her. We wouldn't keep anything for ourselves, only just enough to buy clothes and such things as we really need."
Before Dotty had time to reply there was a loud scream from the parlor.
"Fly is killed—she is killed!" cried Dotty; but Jennie had presence of mind enough to tuck the bills into the neck of her dress.
"Don't you tell anybody a word aboutit, Dotty. If you tell I'll do something awful to you. Do you hear?"
Dotty heard, but did not answer. The fate of her cousin Flyaway seemed more important to her just then than all the bank-bills in the world.
Flyaway had only been climbing the outside of the staircase, and would have done very well, if some one had not rung the door-bell, and startled her so that she fell from the very top stair to the floor. It was feared, at first, that several bones were broken and her intellect injured for life; but after crying fifteen minutes, she seemed to feel nearly as well as before.
"If ever a child was made of thistle-down it is Flyaway Clifford," said aunt Louise.
Still it was not thought best for her to fatigue herself that day by selling rags,and the wheelbarrow enterprise was put off until the next morning.
The person who rang the door-bell was Mrs. Vance's girl Susan, who called for Jennie to go home and try on a frock. Jennie did not return, and Dotty had a sense of uneasiness all day. The guilty secret of the three dollars weighed upon her mind. Should she, or should she not, tell her grandmother?
"I don't know but Jennie would do something to my things if I told," thought she; "but then I never promised a word. Here it is four o'clock. Who knows but she's gone and spent that money, and my grandmother never'll know what's 'come of it?"
This possibility was very alarming. "Jennie Vance doesn't seem to have any little whisper inside ofherheart, that ticks likea watch; butIhave.Myconscience pricks; so I know that perhaps it's my duty to go and tell."
Dotty drew herself up virtuously and looked in the glass. There she seemed to see an angelic little girl, whose only wish was to do just right—a little girl as much purer than Jennie Vance, as a lily is purer than a very ugly toadstool.
Well, Miss Dotty, there is some truth in the picture. Jennie is not a good child; but neither are you an angel. There is more wickedness in your proud little heart than you will ever begin to find out. And wait a minute. Who teaches you all you know of right and wrong? Is it your mother? Suppose she had died, as did Jennie's mamma, when you were a toddling baby?
There, that's all; you do not hear a wordI say; and if you did, you would not heed, O, self-righteous Dotty Dimple!
Dotty ran up stairs to find her grandmother.
"Grandma," whispered she, though there was no one else in the room; "something dreadful has happened. You've lost three dollars!"
"What, dear?"
"O, you needn't look in your pocket. Jennie found 'em in the rag-bag, and tried to make me take half; but of course I never; and now she's run off with 'em!"
"Found three dollars in the rag-bag? I guess not."
"Yes, grandma; for I saw her just as she was going to find em', in a pair of pockets. I should have seen 'em myself if she hadn't looked first."
"Indeed! Is this really so? But sheought to have come and given them to me."
"That was just what I told her, over and over, grandma, and over again. But she's a dreadful naughty girl, Jennie Vance is. If there's anything bad she can do, she goes right off and does it."
"Hush, my child."
"Yes'm, I won't say any more,onlyI don't think my mother would like to have me play with little girls that take money out of rag-bags."
Dotty drew herself up again in a very stately way.
"Jenniesaidshe was going to buy you a silk dress and so forth; but she does truly lie so, 'one to another,' that you can't believe her for certain, not half she says."
Grandma looked over her spectacles and through the window, as if trying to see what ought to be done.
You can't believe her for certain."You can't believe her for certain.
"You did right to tell me this, my child," said she; "but I wish you to say nothing about it to any one else: will you remember?"
"Yes'm," replied Dotty, trying to read her grandmother's face, and feeling a little alarmed by its solemnity. "What you going to do, grandma? Not put Jennie in the lockup—are you? 'Cause if you do—O, don't you! She said 'twas her sharp eyes, and she didn't mean to steal, and 'twasn't your pockets, and she promised she'd give me half—yes, she truly did, grandma."
"Go, dear, and bring me my bonnet from the band-box in my bed-room closet."
Then Mrs. Parlin folded the sheet she was making, put on her best shawl and bonnet, and kid gloves, and taking her sun umbrella, set out for a walk. Therewas a look in her face which made her little granddaughter think it would not be proper to ask any questions.
Mrs. Parlin met Jennie Vance coming in at the gate.
"O, dear," thought Dotty, "I don't want to see her. Grandma says I've done right, but Jennie'll call me a tell-tale. I'll go out in the barn and hide."
The guilty secret had lain heavy at Jennie's heart all day. As soon as her dress-maker could spare her, and a troublesome little cousin had left, she asked permission to go to Mrs. Parlin's.
"Dotty thinks I meant to keep it," she thought. "I never did see such a girl. You can't say the least little thing but she takes it sober earnest, and says she'll tell her grandmother."
Jennie stole round by the back door, and timidly asked for Miss Dimple.
"I'm sure I don't know where she is," answered Ruthie, with a pleasant smile; "nor Flyaway either. I have been living in peace for half an hour."
Ruthie made you think of lemon candy; she was sweet and tart too.
While Jennie, with the kind assistance of Prudy, was hunting for Dotty, Mrs. Parlin was in Judge Vance's parlor, talking with Jennie's step-mother. Mrs. Vance was shocked to hear of her daughter's conduct, for she loved her and wished her to do right.
"My poor Jennie," said she; "from her little babyhood until she was six years old, there was no one to take care of her but a hired nurse, who neglected her sadly."
"I know just what sort of training Jennie has had from Serena Pond," said Mrs. Parlin; "it was most unfortunate. Butyou are so faithful with her, my dear Mrs. Vance, that I do believe she will outgrow all those early influences."
"I keep hoping so," said Mrs. Vance, repressing a sigh; "I take it very kindly of you, Mrs. Parlin, that you should come to me with this affair. I shall not allow Jennie to go to your house very often. You do not like to wound my feelings, but I am sure you cannot wish to have your little granddaughter very intimate with a child who is sly and untruthful."
"My dear lady," said grandma Parlin, taking Mrs. Vance's hand, and pressing it warmly; "since we are talking so freely together, and I know you are too generous to be offended, I will confess to you that if Jennie persists in concealing this money, I would prefer not to have Dotty play with her very much; at least while her motheris not here to have the care of her." It was hard for Mrs. Parlin to say this, and she added presently,—
"Please let Jennie spend the night at our house. She may wish to talk with me; we will give her the opportunity."
Mrs. Vance gladly consented. She had observed that Jennie seemed unhappy, and was very anxious to see Dotty again. She hoped she had gone to return the money of her own free will.
When Mrs. Parlin opened the nursery door at home, she found Jennie building block houses, to Flyaway's great delight, while at the other end of the room sat Dotty Dimple, resolutely sewing patchwork.
"O, grandma," spoke up Flyaway, "Jennie came to see me; she didn't come to see Dotty, 'cause Dotty don't want to talk.There, now, Jennie, make a rat to put in the cupboard. R goes first to rat."
Innocent little Flyaway! She had long ago forgotten her pique against Jennie for being "so easy fretted," and jumping her down from the table.
Wretched little Jennie! The new blue and white frock, just finished by her dress-maker, covered a heart filled with mortification. Dotty Dimple would not talk to her. It seemed as if Dotty had climbed to the top of a high mountain, and was looking down, down upon her.
Dotty did feel very exalted to-day; but there was another reason why she would not talk with Jennie: she might have to confess that grandma knew about the money; and then what a scene there would be! So Dotty set her lips together, and sewed as if she was afraid somebody wouldfreeze to death before she could finish her patchwork quilt.
Mrs. Clifford, who did not understand the cause of Dotty's lofty mood, took pity on Jennie, and tried to amuse her. After a while, Dotty came softly along, and sat down close to her aunt Maria, ready to listen to the story of the "Pappoose," though she had heard it fifty times before.
She did not see Jennie alone for one moment. Grandma Parlin did. "Jennie," said she, taking her into the parlor to show her a new shell, "are you going with our little girls, to-morrow, to sell rags?"
"I don't know, ma'am, I'm sure," replied Jennie, looking hard at the sofa. She longed to make an open confession, and get rid of the troublesome money, but had not the courage to do it without some help from Dotty.
"O, dear," thought she, "I feel just as wicked with that money in my bosom! Seems as if she could hear it crumple. If Dotty would only let me talk to her first!"
But Dotty continued as unapproachable as the Pope of Rome. Eight o'clock came, and the two unhappy little girls went slowly up stairs to bed. Dotty, in her lofty pride, tried to make her little friend feel herself a sinner; while Jennie, ready to hide herself in the potato-bin for shame, was, at the same time, very angry with the self-satisfied Miss Dimple. She was awed by her superior goodness, but did not love her any the better for it. Why should she? Dotty's goodness lacked
"Humility, that low, sweet root,From which all heavenly virtues shoot."
"Humility, that low, sweet root,From which all heavenly virtues shoot."
"Here, Miss Parlin," said Jennie, angrily, as she took off her dress; "here it is, right in my neck. I should have gone and given it to your grandmother, ever so long ago, if you hadn't acted so!"
Dotty pulled off her stockings.
"I 'spose you thought I was going to keep it. Here, take your old money!"
"You did mean to keep it, Jane Sidney Vance," retorted Dotty, as fierce as a thistle; and finished undressing at the top of her speed.
The money lay on the floor, and neither of the proud girls would pick it up. Jennie, who always prayed at her mother's knee, forgot her prayer to-night, and climbed into bed without it. But Dotty, feeling more than ever how much better she was than her little friend, knelt beside a chair, and prayed in a loud voice. First, she repeated the "Lord's Prayer," then "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild," and "Now I lay me down to sleep." She was not talking to her heavenly Father, but to Jennie, and ended her petitions thus:—
"O God, forgive me if I have done anything naughty to-day; and please forgiveJennie Vance, the wickedest girl in this town."
Then the little Pharisee got into bed.
"The wickedest girl in this town!" Jennie's eyes flashed in the dark like a couple of fireflies. At first she was too angry to speak; and when words did come, they were too weak. She wanted words that were so strong, and bitter, and fierce, that they would make Dotty quail. But all she could say was,—
"O, dreadful good you are, Miss Parlin! Good's the minister! Ah! guess I'll get out and sleep on the floor!"
Dotty made no reply, but rolled over to the front of the bed, and Jennie pushedherself to the back of it. There the little creatures lay in silence, each on an edge of the bedstead, and a whole mattress between. Sleep did not come at once.
"She's left that money on the floor," thought Dotty; "what if a mouse should creep down the chimney, and gnaw it all up? But she must take care of it herself.Ishan't!"
And Jennie thought, wrathfully, "Dotty says such long prayers she can't stop to pick up that scrip! If she expects me to get out of bed, she's made a mistake; I won't touch her old money."
About nine o'clock grandma Parlin came quietly into the room with a lamp. A smile crept round the corners of her mouth, as she saw the little girls sleeping so widely apart, their faces turned away from each other.
"How is this?" said she, as the two bills caught her eye. "Of all the foolish children! Dropping money about the room like waste paper!"
The light awoke Jennie, who had only just fallen asleep. "Now is the time," said she to herself; and without waiting for a second thought, which would have been a worse one, she sprang out of bed, and caught Mrs. Parlin by the skirts.
"That money is yours, Mrs. Parlin," said she, bravely. "Yours; I found it in the rag-bag. Something naughty came into me this morning, and made me want to keep it; but I'm ever so sorry, and never'll do it again. Will you forgive me?"
Then grandma Parlin seated herself in a rocking-chair, took Jennie right into her lap, and talked to her a long while in the sweetest way. Jennie curled her head intothe good woman's neck, and sobbed out all her wretchedness.
"She knew she was real bad, and people didn't like to have her play with their little girls, and Dotty Dimple thought she was awful; butwasshe the wickedest girl in this town?"
"No; O, no!"
"Wasn't Dotty some bad, too?"
"Yes, Dotty often did wrong."
Then Jenny wept afresh.
"She knew shewasworse than Dotty, though. She wished,—O, dear, as true as she lived,—she wished she was dead and buried, and drowned in the Red Sea, and the grass over her grave, and shut up in jail, and everything else."
Then Mrs. Parlin soothed her with kind words, but told the truth with every one.
"No 'm," Jennie said; "it wasn't rightto take fruit-cake without leave, or tell wrong stories either; she wouldn't any more. Yes'm, she would try to be good—she never had tried much.—Yes 'm, she would ask God to help her. Should you suppose He would do it?
"Yes 'm, she would ask Him not to let her have much temptation. She did believe she would rather be a good girl—a real good girl, like Prudy,not like Dotty!—than to have a velvet dress with spangles all over it."
All this while Dotty did not waken. In the morning she was surprised to see her little bedfellow looking so cheerful.
"I've told your grandmother all about it," said Jennie with a smile. "I knew I did wrong, but I don't believe I should have meant to if you hadn't acted so yourownself—now that's a fact."
"You haven't seen my grandmother," returned Dotty, not noticing the last clause of her friend's remark. "You dreamed it."
"No, she came in here and forgave me. She's the best woman in this world. What do you think she said about you, Dotty Dimple? She said there were other little girls full as good as you are. There!"
"O!"
"Said you 'often did wrong,' that'sjustwhat," added Jennie, correcting herself, and making sure of the "white truth."
Step by step Dotty came down from the mountain-top, and, before breakfast was ready, had led her visitor through the morning dew to the playhouse under the trees, chatting all the way as if nothing had happened.
It proved that the money belonged to Abner. He had missed it several weeksbefore, and ever since that had been suspecting old Daniel McQuilken, a day laborer, of stealing it.
"I'm ashamed of it now," said Abner to Ruth, "though I didn't tell anybody but you. I wish you'd mix a pitcher of sweetened water, and let me take it out to the field to old Daniel. I feel as if I wanted to make it up to him some way."
Ruth laughed; and when Abner came into the house at ten o'clock, she had a pitcher of molasses and water ready for him, also a plate of cherry turnovers. Flyaway insisted upon toddling over the ground with one of the turnovers in her apron.
"Man," said she, when they reached the field, and she saw the Irishman with his funny red and white hair, "what's your name, man?"
He wiped his face with his checked shirt-sleeve, and took a turnover from her hand, bowing very low as he did so.
"Thank ee, my little lady; sense you're plazed to ask me,—my name's Dannul."
"O, are you?" said Flyaway, looking up in surprise at the large and oddly-dressed stranger. "Are you Daniel? My mamma's just been reading about you. You was in the lions' den—wasn'tyou, Daniel?"
Mr. McQuilken smiled at bareheaded, flossy-haired little Katie, and replied, with a wink at Abner,—
"Fath, little lady, and I suppose I'm that same Dannul; but 'twas so long ago I've clane forgot aboot it entirely."
"O, did you? Well, youwasin the lions' den, Daniel, but they didn't bite you, you know, 'cause you prayed so longand so loud, with your winners up; and then God wouldn't let 'em bite."
Old Daniel laid both his huge hands on Katie's head.
"Swate little chirrub," said he, "don't she look saintish?"
Katie moved away; she did not like to have her hair pulled, and Daniel was unconsciously drawing it through the big cracks in his fingers, as if he was waxing silk.
"I guess I'll go home now," said she, with a timid glance at the man whom the lions did not bite; "they'll be spectin' me."
Abner and Daniel both watched the tiny figure across the fields till Ruth came out to meet it, and it fluttered into the east door of the house.
"There, she's safe," said Abner; "sheneeds as much looking after as a young turkey."
"She runs like a little sperrit, bliss her swate eyes," said Daniel. "I had one as pooty as her, but she's at Mary's fate, Hivven rist her sowl!"
The moment Flyaway reached the house, she rushed into the parlor to tell her mother the news.
"The man you readed about in the book, mamma, he's out there! Daniel, that the lions didn't bite, mamma, 'cause he prayed so long and so loud with his winners up; he's out there—got a hat on."
"O, no, my child; it is thousands of years since Daniel was in the lions' den; he died long and long ago."
"But he said he did, mamma; he told me so. Ifoughthe was dead, mamma, but he said he wasn't."
Mrs. Clifford shook her head. "I dare say his name is Daniel, but he was never in a lion's den."
Flyaway opened and closed her eyes in the slowest and most impressive manner. "Mamma," said she, solemnly, "does—folks—tell—lies?"
It was an entirely now idea to the innocent child: it stamped itself upon her mind like a motto on warm sealing-wax, "Folks—does—tell—lies."
Mrs. Clifford was sorry to see the look of distrust on the young face.
"Listen to me, little Flyaway. I think the man was in sport; he was only playing with you, as Horace does sometimes, when he calls himself your horse."
Flyaway said no more, but she pressed her eyelids together again, and felt that she had been trifled with. Half an hourafterwards Prudy heard her repeating, slowly, to herself, "Folks—does—tell—lies."
"Why, here she is," called Dotty from the piazza; "come, Fly; we're going wheel-barrowing."
"Wait a minute, cousin Dotty," said Mrs. Clifford; "Flyaway must put on a clean frock; she is not coming home with you, but you are to leave her at aunt Martha's. I shall meet her there at dinner time."
"O, mamma, may I? I love you a hundred rooms full. Let me go bring mybuttoner bootnerquick's a minute."
Flyaway was not long in getting ready. She was never long about anything.
"You said we might have all the money, we three—didn't you, grandma?" asked Dotty again, at the last moment, thinkinghow glad she was Jennie had gone home, and would not claim a share.
"Yes," replied patient grandma for the fifth time; "you may do anything you like with it, except to buy colored candy."
As they were trundling the wheelbarrow out of the yard, Horace came up from the garden.
"Prudy," said he, with rather a shame-faced glance at his favorite cousin, "you girls will cut a pretty figure, parading through the streets like a gang of pedlers. Come, let me be the driver."
"O, we thought you couldn't leave your flower-beds, sir," replied Prudy, sweeping a courtesy.
"Well, the weedsarepretty tough, ma'am; roots 'way down in China, and the Emperor objects to parting with 'em; but—"
"Poh! we don't need any boys," cried the self-sustained Miss Dimple; "if your hands are too soft, Prudy, you mustn't push. Wait and see what Dotty Dimple can do."
"O, then, if you spurn me and my offer, good by. I suppose my little Topknot goes forsurplusage," said Horace, who liked now and then to puzzle Dotty with a new word. He meant that Flyaway was of no use, but rather in the way.
"No, she needn't do any such thing," returned Dotty. "Jump in, Fly, and sit on the bag." And off moved the gay little party, "the middle-aged sister" laughing so she could hardly push, Flyaway dancing up and down on the rag-bag, like a humming-bird balancing itself on a twig; Grace and Susy looking down from the "green chamber" window, and saying to eachother, with wounded family pride, "Shouldyou think grandma would allow it?" Out in the street the young rag-merchants were greeted by a cow lowing dismally. Flyaway, in her rustic carriage, felt as secure as the fabled "kid on the roof of a house;" so she called out, "Don't cry, old cow; I 'shamed o' you."
At this Prudy and Dotty laughed harder than ever.
"'Sh right up, old cow," said Flyaway, standing on her "tipsy-toes," and making a threatening gesture with her little arms; "'Sh right up!—O, why don't that cow mind in a minute?"
In her earnestness the little girl pushed the bag to one side, and Prudy and Dotty, shaking with laughter, tipped over the wheelbarrow. No harm was done except to give Flyaway a dust-bath in her niceclean frock. Just as they were struggling with the bag, to get it in again, they were overtaken by a droll-looking equipage. It was a long house on wheels, and instantly reminded Dotty of Noah's ark.
"O, a house a-ridin'! a house a-ridin'!" exclaimed Flyaway, gazing after it with the greatest astonishment.
Dotty thought the world was going topsy-turvy. She looked at the trees to see if they stood fast in the ground. But Prudy explained it as soon as she could stop laughing.
"Only a photograph saloon," said she. "Didn't you ever see one before? We don't have them in the city going round so, but things are different in the country. Let's watch and see where it stops."
"O, dear me," said Dotty; "I shouldn't want to live in a house that couldn't standstill! Stove tipping over, and the gingerbread falling out of the oven! There, I declare!"
The look of wonder on Dotty's face was so amusing that Prudy was obliged to hold on to her sides.
"There, look!" said she; "it has stopped down by the corner. Now the man can bake his gingerbread if he wants to, and the stove won't tip over. Jump in, Flyaway, and finish your ride."
"No-o," said Flyaway, wavering between her fear of the cow, some yards ahead, and her fear of the rocking, unsteady wheelbarrow. "Guess I won't get in no more, Prudy; it wearies me."
"Wearies you?"
"Yes: don't you know what 'wearies' means, Prudy? It means it makes me a—a—little—scared!"
And in her "weariness" Flyaway nestled between her two cousins, and kept fast hold of their skirts till the cow was safely passed and the red store reached.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Bradley, the merchant, as he came out and dragged the rag-bag into the store; "so you've taken the business into your own hands, my little women? Ah, this is a progressive age! Walk in—walk in."
Prudy blushed, Dotty smiled, and Flyaway took off her hat, as she usually did when she did not know what else to do.
"Take some seats, young ladies," said Mr. Bradley, placing three chairs in a row, and bowing as if to the most distinguished visitors. Two or three men, who were lounging about the counter, looked on with a smile. Dotty was very well satisfied, for she enjoyed attention; but Prudy, whowas older, and had a more delicate sense of propriety, blushed and cast down her eyes. She had thought nothing of driving a wheelbarrow through the street, but now, for the first time, a feeling of mortification came over her. If Mr. Bradley would only keep quiet!
"A fine morning, my young friends! Rather warm, to be sure. And so you have brought rags to sell? Would you like the money for them, or do you think we can make a trade with some articles out of the store?"
"Grandma said we could have the money between us, we three," replied Dotty, with refreshing frankness, "and buy anything we please except red and yellow candy."
"I want amusic," said Flyaway, in an eager whisper; "a music, and a ollinge, and a pig."
"Hush!" said Prudy, for the man with a piece of court-plaster on his cheek was certainly laughing.
Mr. Bradley took the bag into another room to weigh it. A boy was in there, drawing molasses. "James," said Mr. Bradley, "run down cellar, and bring up some beer for these young ladies."
There was a smile on James's face as he drove the plug into the barrel. Prudy saw it through the open door, and it went to her heart. The cream beer was excellent, but Prudy did not relish it. She and Dotty had been whispering together.
"We will take two thirds of the rags in money, if you please," said Prudy, in such a low tone that Mr. Bradley had to bend his ear to hear.
"Because," added Dotty, who wished to have everything clearly explained, "becausewe want to have our tin-types taken, sir. We saw a saloon riding on wheels, and we thought we'd go there, and see if the man wasn't ready to take pictures."
"And our little cousin may use her third, and buy something out of the store, if you please," said the blushing Prudy.
Mr. Bradley said he did not often allow any one behind his counter, as all the boys in the village could testify; but these young ladies were welcome in any part of the store.
"That little one is the spryest child I ever saw," said the man with the court-plaster, as Flyaway hovered about the candy-jars, like a butterfly over a flower-bed. "She isn't a Yankee child—is she?"
"No, sir," replied Dotty, quickly; "she is awesterness."
She had heard Horace use the word, and presumed it was correct.
"I do wish Dotty would be more afraid of strangers," thought Prudy. "I never will take her anywhere again—with a wheelbarrow."
Flyaway fluttered around for a minute, and then alighted upon her favorite sweet-meats, "pepnits." She chose for her portion a large amount of these, an harmonica, and a sugar pig, which Dotty assured her was not "colored." "Nothing but pink dots, and those you can pick off."
"The rags came to seventy-five cents, and this young lady has now had her third; here is the remainder," said Mr. Bradley, smiling as he gave each of the little Parlins some money, and bowed them out of the store.
"I'll put it inmyporte-monnaie, sir; my sister Prudy didn't bring hers."
"What makes you talk so much, DottyDimple?" said Prudy, "that man has been making sport of us all the time."
"Did he?" said Dotty, solemnly. "I'm 'stonished at grandma Parlin letting us sell rags! Wish this wheelbarrow was in theStiftic Ocean."
"But it isn't, little sister, and the worst of it is, we've got to take it to the photograph saloon; it's so far home and back again."
"Got to take the olewheelbarrelevery single where we go," pouted Flyaway, as drearily as either of her cousins.
"You needn't mind it, though," said Dotty, giving the one-wheeled coach a hard push; "a little girl that's going visiting, and have succotash for dinner."
"I didn't know I was. O, Iamso glad! What is it!"
"Corn and beans. Aunt Martha's girl isthe best cook,—makes cherry pudding. Dear, dear, dear! Wish I was in Portland; see 'f I wouldn't go to Tate Penny's, and have some salmon and ice-cream!"
Down the beautiful shaded street walked the three little rag-pedlers; and it did seem as if they were met by all the people in town, from the minister down to the barefoot boys going fishing. At last they arrived at the house on wheels.
"Now I'll tell you, Fly, what we're going to do," said Prudy. "Dotty and I want to have our tin-types taken, to give to grandma, as a pleasant surprise. We'll pay for yours too, if you'll sit for it."
"Tin-tybe? Of course, indeed I will. Won't I have nuffin to do but just sit still? But I'd rather be gentle (generous), and give it to my mamma."
"Well, to your mamma, then. Whatwill be the harm, Dotty, in leaving this wheelbarrow out here at the door?"
"I don't know," said Dotty; "I hope there won't any 'bugglers' come along, and steal it."
"I shall watch it," replied Prudy, with a care-worn look; and they all went up the steps and entered the little picture-gallery.
The windows were closed, and the odor of chemicals was so stifling, that the children almost gasped for breath. The artist seemed glad to see them, made no remarks about the wheelbarrow, though he must have noticed it, and said he would be ready in a few minutes. While they waited, they walked about the room, looking at the pictures on the walls.
"See," said Dotty; "there is Abby Grant, with her hair frizzed. Prudy" (in a lowwhisper), "you don't s'pose he will carry us off—do you? I forgot about the wheels, or I wouldn't have come! O, see that little boy; hands as big as my father's! Here comes Jennie Vance; I'm going to call her in."
Dotty had forgotten her contempt for her lively friend. Jennie came in, twirling the rim of her hat, and looking quite gratified by this mark of friendship in Dotty.
"Going to have your picture taken, Dotty Dimple? Well, so I would if I was as pretty as you are. O, dear" (with a sly peep at the glass), "I wish I wasn't so homely."
Now Jennie was a handsome child, and knew it well; but Dotty took her wail in earnest. "Why, Jennie," said she, with ready sympathy, "I don't think you're soveryhomely; not half so homely, any way, as some of the girls at Portland."
Jennie frowned and bit her thumb. Prudy smiled "behind her mouth," but Dotty was serenely unconscious that she had given offence. By this time the artist was ready, and thought it best to try Flyaway first; for he had had enough experience with children to see at a glance that this one would be as difficult to "take" as a bird on the wing. Prudy made sure the wheelbarrow was safe, and then turned to arrange her little cousin.
"Here, put your hands down in your lap."
Up went the little hands to the flossy hair. "It won't stay, Prudy,or nelseyou tie it."
"I shall brush it, the very last minute, Flyaway. All you must do is sit still. Mayn't she look at your watch, sir, just to keep her eyes from moving?"
"No matter what she looks at," replied the artist; "but she must keep that little head of hers straight."
His tone was firm; he hoped to awe her into quietness. Flyaway was frightened, and clung to Prudy for protection. "Don't the gemplum love little gee—urls?" said she, in a voice as low and sad as a dying dove's.
Mr. Poindexter laughed, and stroked the beautiful floss lovingly.
"Just turn your sweet little face this way, dear child; that's all."
"O, my shole! Must I turn my face to my back!" said Flyaway, bewildered.
"No, no; look at this picture on the wall. See what it is, so you can tell your mother."
"It's a bridge, and a man, and a fish," said Flyaway, flashing a glance at it.
"There, smooth your forehead; now you will do." And so she did, for two seconds, till she began to squint, to see whether it was a fish or a dog; and that picture was spoiled.
Next time she tried so very hard to sit still that she swayed to and fro like a slender-stemmed flower when the wind goes over it. The picture was blurred.
"O, Fly, you must keep your shoulders still," said Prudy, looking as anxious as the old woman in the shoe.
"I didn't never want to come here," said the child; "when I sit so still, Prudy, it 'most gives me a pain."
"But you haven't sat still yet, not a minute."
"I could, you know, Prudy,or nelseI didn't have to breeve," groaned Flyaway, lifting her eyebrows.
"Another one spoiled," said the artist, trying to smile.
"Yes," said Dotty, who felt none of the care. "Once it was her head, and then it was her shoulders; and now her eyebrows are all of a quirk."
Poor little Flyaway felt as much out of place as a grape-vine would feel, if it had to make believe it was a pine tree.
"Wisht I'd said 'no,' 'stead o' 'yes,'" murmured she, puckering her mouth to the size of a very small button-hole.
"This will never do," said the patient artist, almost in despair. "Hold your little chin up, there's a lady. Don't put it in your neck. Now! Ready!"
But at the critical moment there was a jerk, and Flyaway cried out,—
"I've got a sneeze; but, O, dear, I can't sneeze it."
"Why, where's that head of yours, little Tot? I declare, I believe it goes on wires, like a jumping-jack."
"My head's wrong side up," said Flyaway, mournfully; "my mother said it was."
Mr. Poindexter laughed: it was impossible to be vexed with such a gentle child as Flyaway. "Really, my young friends," said he, rubbing his stained fingers through his hair, "I believe I shall be obliged to give it up for the present. Have the child's mother come with her to-morrow, and we'll do better, I am sure."
With the likenesses of the other girls he succeeded very well; and Prudy and Dotty were glad to find, that after paying for theirs, they each had ten cents left.
"Now, Fly, we will go to aunt Martha's."
But Fly was amusing herself by scraping dirt out of the cracks of her boots with a bit of glass.
"Dotty won't be to aunt Marfie's. I don't want to stay where Dotty isn't."
"But your mamma will be there, you know; and I told you what they are going to have for dinner."
"Yes,secretary," said Flyaway, proud of her memory. "She is a very nicecooker, but you'll have hard work to get me to go."
She drawled out the words languidly, and seemed on the point of going to sleep.
"O, girls, girls, girls," cried Prudy, opening the door and looking out, "our wheelbarrow is gone—it's gone!"
"It's bugglers; I told you so," said Dotty.
Mr. Poindexter was quite amused by his little sitters. "I saw that you came in a coach," said he, "and without any horses."
"Our grandmother said we might," spoke up Dotty, anxious to divert all blame fromherself. "She said we might; but Prudy ought to have gone straight home. I knew it all the time."
"I dare say some one has driven off your carriage in sport," said the kind-hearted photographer; "never fear."
"O, no, sir; it was new and red. Folks wanted it to haul stones in, and that was why they took it," said Dotty, wrathfully.
The children looked up street and down street. No wheelbarrow in sight. "We must go to aunt Martha's, and then come back and hunt for it, if we have to go without our dinners," they said. They took Flyaway between them, and marched her off. She was almost as passive as a rag baby, ready to drop down anywhere, and fall asleep. "'Cause Iamso tired," said she.
Aunt Martha cordially invited the twocousins to dine. They thanked her, but no, they must find the wheelbarrow. "We shan't say, certain positive, that bugglers took it, but we s'pose so," said Dotty, softening her judgment, as she remembered her mistake about the "screw-up pencil." They went home through the broiling sun, but found no trace of the wheelbarrow.
"It's a dreadful thing," said Prudy, lazily, "but I don't feel as bad as I should if I was fairly awake."
"Me, too," yawned Dotty; "I wish we could lie down under the trees, and go to sleep."
They had been a long while in the close saloon, inhaling ether, and this was the cause of their languor. As they entered the yard they met Horace.
"O, dear," said Dotty, trying to look as sorry as she knew she ought to feel, "that wheel—"
"What!" exclaimed Prudy.
There, under a syringa tree in the garden, stood the wheelbarrow. The girls rubbed their eyes, and wondered if they were walking in their sleep.
"That thing trundled itself in here about half an hour ago," said Horace, gravely. "You may know I was surprised to look up, and see it coming without hands, just rolling along like a velocipede."
Dotty eyed the runaway wheelbarrow stupidly. "I don't believe it," said she, flatly.
Horace laughed; and then the fog cleared away from Dotty's mind in a minute.
"Why, girls," said he, "how long did you think I could wait to haul off my weeds? You were gone two hours. I watched you on your parade, and followed at a respectful distance."
"There, Horace Clifford!"
"In order not to disturb the procession. Then, when I saw you going into the saloon, I went up and claimed my wheelbarrow. Didn't want it any longer—did you?"
"No, and never want it again," said Prudy.
"By the way, here's a conundrum for you, girls, Why's a wheelbarrow like a potato?"
"I shouldn't think it was like it at all," answered Dotty. "Where did you read that?"
"Didn't read it anywhere. I've given up books since I undertook gardening. Never was much of a bookworm. Make a very respectableearth-worm; ask aunt Louise if I don't."
The little girls entered the house, too tired and sleepy to make any reply.