"O, dear!" said Lina, sauntering along to an old chest, and taking her knitting from the top of it; "that's always the way. I thought if you came, mother'd let me play."
Dotty understood from this remark why Lina had asked her to go home with her. It was not because she wished to hear any of Dotty's brilliant stories, for she had not asked a single question about Out West; it was because she hoped for a reprieve from the dreaded knitting.
"She's a real naughty little girl," thought Miss Dimple; "and if she hadn't hided my hat, I'd go right home."
There was a heavy tread on the stairs. Mrs. Rosenberg was coming up, partly to see if her daughter was knitting, and partly to hang a paper bag on the long pole overhead. Mandoline was dreadfully afraid of her mother, and, in her eagerness to be found hard at work, she rattled her needles very fast, while her fingers wandered aimlessly about among the stitches. Mrs. Rosenberg detected the cheat at once; and, as she was needing the money for the socks, she scolded Mandoline soundly, and pelted her pretty little hands, rat, tat, tat, with a steel thimble.
Dotty was a little startled, and peeped out at Lina from the corners of her eyes. Mrs. Rosenberg scolded so hard that the paper bags overhead seemed to rattle, and some yellow pollen dropped out of one of them like shooting stars.
Dotty had never known that there are such cruel people in the world; but let me tell you, little reader, every mother is not like the gentle, low-voiced woman who takes you in her lap, and kindly reproves you when you have done wrong. No; there are very different mothers; hard-working, ignorant ones, who do not know how to treat their children any more than you know how to build a brick house.
Mrs. Rosenberg was so severe and unreasonable, that her little daughter, through fear of her, had learned to deceive. Still Mrs. Rosenberg loved Mandoline, and would have been a better mother, perhaps, if she had only known how, and had not had so much work to do.
Presently she went down stairs, and left the little girls together.
"Good!" said Lina, in a low voice. "She's gone; now we'll play."
"But you can't knit if you play, Lina. Tell me where you hided my hat, 'cause I want to go home."
"You shan't go home till after supper, you little darling Dotty Dimple."
"O, but I must go, for my mother doesn't know where I am," said Dotty, in a dreary tone. She had no longer any curiosity regarding Jewish suppers; all she wanted was the liberty to get away. But it is always easier to fall into a trap than to get out of it. Mandoline would not produce the missing hat, and it was no light matter for Dotty to go down stairs, among the noisy, quarrelsome children, and beg the severe Mrs. Rosenberg to take her part. If she did so, perhaps the woman would pelt her with the steel thimble. Perhaps, too, she would say Mandoline might keep the hat. So Dotty played "synagogue," and all the while the sun was dropping down, down the sky, as if it had a leaden weight attached to it, to make it go faster.
The same warfare of words continued to come up from the kitchen, and presently the odor of sausages stole up, too; Mrs. Rosenberg was preparing supper. It seemed to the impatient Dotty that she was a long while about it; but she worked as fast as she could, with so many children clinging to her skirts, and impeding her movements.
"Supper, Mandoline!" called she at last, in a shrill voice; and the little girls went down.
The supper was palatable enough, but very unwholesome, and the table-cloth was dirty and wrinkled.
"You don't seem to like my cooking," said Mrs. Rosenberg, with a displeased glance at Dotty's full plate.
"Yes'm," replied the little guest, faintly; "but I've eaten up my appetite."
At the same time she swallowed a little oily gravy in desperation, and looked slyly to see if Solly was watching her. Yes, he was, and so were all the rest of the family, as if she had been a peculiar kind of animal, just caught and caged.
"I suppose they are dreadful nice folks at your house," continued Mrs. Rosenberg. "I almost wonder your mother let you come here to play with my poor little girl. Mandy's just as good as you are, though,—you can tell her so,—and she's got a sight prettier eyes."
Dotty's heart kept swelling and swelling, till presently it seemed as if there wasn't room enough in her whole body to hold it. She thought of the cheerful, orderly tea-table at home; she recalled her mother's gentle ways, her lovely face, and longed to kiss her cheek, and whisper, "Forgive me."
"Mamma'll be just as patient with me," thought Dotty; "she always is! But if I once get home, I'll never make her patient any more. I'll never run away again; not unless sheasksme to—I won't."
The children, as fast as they finished their suppers, jumped up and ran away from the table—all but Solly, who had some faint idea that it was not polite to do so before company. He was a natural gentleman; and it was unfortunate that just at this time his mother was obliged to send him to Munjoy of an errand. Otherwise he would have made his sister give up Dotty's hat, and perhaps would have walked home with the unhappy child himself.
As it was, Dotty did not seem to have a friend in the world. It was now so dark that she hardly dared look out of doors; but even in the brightest daylight she could not have found her way home.
"You've got to stay all night," said Mandoline. "Isn't that splendid?"
Mandoline did not mean to be cruel. She had observed that her mother urged her own guests to stay, and sometimes kept them almost by force. This she supposed was true politeness. More than that, she was anxious, for private reasons, to hold Dotty, so she might not have to knit so much. She knew, too, that her mother was proud to have such a well-bred little girl in the house. So she would not give up Dotty's hat.
At eight o'clock, Dotty went to bed with Mandoline in the unfinished chamber, sorely against her will; and Mandoline told her such dreadful stories that she could not close her eyes for fright.
"This is the queerest house I was ever in," thought she, "and the queerest bed. I s'pose it's made of pin-feathers, for they stick into me awfully."
The bed was on the floor, and was founded upon woolsacks and buffalo skins. The sleeping arrangements in this house were somewhat peculiar. Mrs. Rosenberg was like the old woman in the shoe, and she stowed her numerous family away for the night in as little space as possible. For instance, the four youngest children slept together in one trundle-bed, two at the top and two at the bottom, their feet coming together in the middle. But Mandoline had left the trundle bed, and was lying on the floor with her guest. The companion the trundle-bed—little Kosina—was quite indignant at being deserted, and made a loud outcry, in the hope of attracting her mother's attention.
"I don't want to sleep alone!" said she; "I don't want to sleepalo-o-one!"
At another time Dotty would have laughed heartily. It was so absurd for a child to be lonesome when there were three in the bed! But Dotty was too low-spirited even to smile. Mrs. Rosenberg came up and boxed Rosina's ears; and after that the trundle-bed subsided.
At last, when Dotty supposed it must be midnight, though it was only nine o'clock, there came a loud knocking at the side door. She hid her face under the coverlet, feeling sure it was either a wild Indian or a highway robber.
"Don't be afraid," said Mandoline, rousing herself. "It is somebody after beer, and mother has locked up the store."
No, it was Mr. Parlin's voice which spoke. Dotty's swollen heart gave a great bound, and then sank heavier than ever.
"My little daughter Alice has run away." That was what he said. "Is she in your house, Mrs. Rosenberg?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Rosenberg, "I expect its likely she is; but she and my Mandoline's been abed and asleep two hours."
"O, papa, I'm wide awake!" cried little Dotty, with an eager shriek, which pierced the rafters.
"Good night, then," said Mr. Parlin, coldly.
"O, but, papa, I want to go home. What did my mamma say about me?"
"She said she had sent you of an errand. When you have finished your errand, you may come home. Good night."
"O, NOT good night!" screamed Dotty, almost falling down stairs in her haste, and fastening her dress as she ran. "It was 'cause Lina hid my hat; and that was why—"
"By the way," said Mr. Parlin, without paying the slightest attention to his half-frantic little daughter, who was clinging to his knees, and pleading with her whole soul, "Mrs. Rosenberg, I'm sorry to trouble you, but if you will be kind enough to keep this little runaway girl till I send for her, I shall be very much obliged."
"O, certainly, Mr. Parlin; certainly, sir," replied the Jewess, smiling very sweetly, and trying to pat Dotty's head, which was in such violent motion that she only succeeded in touching the end of her nose. No one who had looked at Mrs. Rosenberg at that moment would have suspected her of being a vixen. She was sure Mr. Parlin would pay her handsomely if she kept his daughter there for a day or two; and the prospect of a little money always made the poor woman very amiable.
"Thank you, madam," said Mr. Parlin, gently disengaging himself from Dotty. "When you are tired of my little daughter, will you please let me know? Goodnight, Mrs. Rosenberg; good-night, Alice."
And, before Dotty had time to scream again, he was gone.
For a moment she stood quite still, gazing at the door-latch; then rushed out into the darkness, calling, "Papa, papa!" But Mrs. Rosenberg laid her strong hands upon her, and brought her back.
"So your mother didn't say you might come? I thought it was queer. Hush! hush! Don't go into fits, child. There are no bears in this house, and nothing will hurt you."
Mrs. Rosenberg's manner was much kinder than it had been before; and with a child's quick insight, Dotty perceived that her father's coming had wrought the change.
"I want to go home! I want to go home!" cried she, with another passionate outburst. "O, take me—do! They won't send for me, never! Take me, and I'll give you—O, Mrs. Rosenberg, I'll give you—"
For a little while there was quite a scene at the little grocery, and it repented Mandoline that she had ever hidden Dotty's hat. The trundle-bed waked up at both ends and screamed; the black and tan dog, who slept under the counter in the store, barked lustily; the parrot in the blue cage called out, "Quit that! quit that!" and Mrs. Rosenberg was afraid a policeman would come in to inquire the cause of the uproar. She pattered about in a pair of her husband's cotton-velvet slippers, and tucked all her little ones into bed again, very much as if they had been clothes in a boiler, which she was forcing down with a stick. She was a woman who would be obeyed; and Dotty, finding it of no use to hold out against fate, went up stairs at last, and lay down beside Mandoline on the "pin-feathers."
This stolen visit had turned out quite, quite different from her anticipations. Instead of a delightful supper of some mysterious Jewish cookery, she had been drinking gall and wormwood. That Lina would not let her go—THAT was the gall; that her father made her stay—THIS was the wormwood.
"She is a tough piece," sighed Mrs. Rosenberg, as she laid her weary limbs to repose; "I didn't know, one while, but she'd get away in spite of me. I wonder what her father'll pay me. He seems to think this is a house of correction. Her mother won't be likely to let her stay more than one day. I'll have on the best table-cloth for breakfast; and along in the forenoon I'll fetch out some macaroni cakes and lager beer; that'll coax her up, I guess."
Just then Mrs. Rosenberg down stairs and Dotty Dimple up stairs both fell asleep. One dreamed of running away and being chased by a dog with a hat on his head, who barked "Good-night" as fiercely as a bite. The other dreamed of money and brown sugar. And all the while the rats were treating themselves to nibbles of wood; but nobody heard them. Be careful, old rats! Your teeth have done mischief before now! The night wore on to the wee small hours, when a loud noise like a cannon startled Mrs. Rosenberg; or was she dreaming? The house was shaken to its very foundation, as if by an earthquake, and the room was full of smoke. She was just running for the children, when the building fell together with a crash, the roof was blown off into the street, the windows were shivered to atoms, and tongues of flame leaped madly up from the ruins.
What did it mean? She was so stunned by the shock that she scarcely cared whether one of her children was spared or not; she only thought in her stupor that Mr. Parlin would not pay her for Dotty's lodging if the child was blown to pieces.
"I know how it happened," said she, twitching at her own hair to arouse herself. "Just as Abraham always said; the rats have been nibbling matches in the store; they've burned a hole through the floor, and set fire to that keg of gunpowder. Yes, that's it!"
I know how it happened, too. It came of eating sausages. Mrs. Rosenberg, after she was fairly awake, felt so uncomfortable and oppressed that she went up stairs to see if the children were safe. Really, I do suppose those little human souls were precious to her, after all.
There lay Mandoline and Dotty side by side on the buffalo skins; and the Jewish mother stood in her short night-dress, with a tallow candle in her hand, and gazed at them tenderly. That horrible dream had stirred the fountain of love in her heart They made a beautiful picture, and there was no stain of evil in their young faces. It seems as if the angel of Sleep flies away with loads of naughtiness, for he always leaves sleeping children looking very innocent. But, alas! he brings back next morning all he carried away, for the little ones wake up with just as bad hearts as ever.
"What sweet little creeters!" said Mrs. Rosenberg, bending over and kissing them both; "just like seraphims right out of the clouds."
Softly, madam! If a drop of tallow should fall on them from that candle, they might take to themselves wings and fly away. That was what Cupid did in the fairy story, and you are in fairy-land yourself, Mrs. Rosenberg; you are still half asleep.
She looked at Mandoline's perfect little hand, lying outside the patchwork quilt.
"It doesn't seem, now," murmured the mother, with a tear in her eye, "that I could ever whack them pretty fingers with a thimble. I do believe if I wasn't pestered to death with everything under the sun to do, I might be kind o' half-way decent."
Perhaps the poor woman told the truth; I think she did.
Then, as she stood there, she breathed a little prayer without any words,—not for herself—for she did not suppose God would hearthat,—but for her children that she "banged about" every day of their lives.
She was not really a Jewess, for she had no religion of any sort, and never went to church; but I am sure of one thing: little overworked Mandoline would have loved her mother better if she had known she ever prayed for her at all.
In the morning, Mrs. Rosenberg was just as hard and sharp as ever; she could not stop to be pleasant. Dotty longed to get away; but she was an exile from her own dear home; whither could she turn?
It was a cold morning, and the children ran down stairs half dressed and shivering. Dotty spread out her stiff, red fingers before the cooking-stove like the sticks of a fan. "O, hum!" thought she, drearily, "I wish I could see the red coals in our grate. My mamma wouldn't let me go to the table with such hair as this. Prudy'd say 'twas 'harum scarum.' But I can't brush it with a tooth-comb, 'thout any glass—so there!"
Dotty's curly hair looked quite as respectable as Mandoline's. Mrs. Rosenberg was far too busy to attend to her children's heads. They might be rough on the outside, and full of mischief inside; but she could not stop to inquire.
"What a dreadful nice breakfast!" remarked Judith, rubbing her hands, and accidentally hitting little Jacob, who forthwith spilled some molasses on the clean table-cloth, and had his ears boxed in consequence. It was very evident that this meal was a much better one than usual—a sort of festival in honor of Dotty Dimple: Dutch cheese and pickles, mince-pie and gingerbread, pepper-boxes and green and yellow dishes, were mixed up together as if they had been stirred about with a spoon.
Dotty had not intended to eat a mouthful; but after her light supper of the night before, she was really hungry, and, in spite of her best resolves, the fish-hash and corncake gradually disappeared from her plate.
After breakfast she felt more resigned, and armed herself to meet her fate. Mrs. Rosenberg graciously allowed Mandoline to lay aside her tedious knitting, and give her undivided attention to her guest. Dotty had no heart for play.
"Seems as if I should choke in this house," said she; "let's go out and breathe."
The air inside the house was rather stifling from a mixture of odors, and soon the grocery began to fill with loud-talking men and boys; but not the least of Dotty's troubles was the black and tan dog, who seemed to have just such a temper as Mrs. Rosenberg, and would certainly have scolded if he had had the gift of speech.
The two little girls went out to walk; but it was not a pleasant street where the grocery stood, and Dotty hurried on to a better part of the town. They fluttered about for two or three hours, as aimless as a couple of white butterflies. Just as they were turning to go back to the dismal little grocery, which Dotty thought was more like a lock-up than ever, they met Mr. and Mrs. Parlin riding out in a carriage.
[Illustration: DOTTY AND THE BLACK-AND-TAN DOG.]
Dotty felt a sudden tumult of joy and shame, but the joy was uppermost. She rushed headlong across the street, swinging her arms and startling the horse, who supposed she was some new and improved kind of windmill, dressed up in a little girl's clothes.
"O, my darling mamma, my darling mamma!"
To her surprise, the horse did not stop. He only pricked up his ears, and looked with displeasure at the windmill, but kept along as before.
"Mamma, mamma, I say!"
Her mother never even looked at her, but turned her gaze to the blackened trees, the heaps of ruin along the pavement.
"O; papa! O, stop, papa! It's me! It's Dotty!"
Mr. Parlin bent on his runaway daughter a glance of indifference, and called out, in passing,—
"What strange little girl is this, who seems to know us so well? Itlookslike my daughter Alice. If it is, she needn't come to my house to-day; she may go and finish her visit at Mrs. Rosenberg's."
Then the horse trotted on,—indeed, he had never paused a moment,—and carried both those dear, dear people out of sight.
What did they mean? What had happened to Dotty Dimple, that her own father and mother did not know her?
She looked down at the skirt of her dress, at her gaiters, at her little bare hands, to make sure no wicked fairy had changed her. Not that she suspected any such thing. She understood but too well what her father and mother meant. They knew her, but had not chosen to recognize her, because they were displeased.
Dotty's little heart, the swelling of which had net gone down at all during the night, now ached terribly. She covered her face with her hands, and groaned aloud.
"Don't," said Mandoline, touched with pity. "They no business to treat you so."
"O, Lina, don't you talk! You don't know anything about it. You never had such a father'n mother's they are! And now they won't let me come into the house!"
This wail of despair would have melted Mrs. Parlin if she could have heard it. It was only because she thought it necessary to be severe that she had consented to do as her husband advised, and turn coldly away from her dear little daughter. Dotty was a loving child, in spite of her disobedience, and this treatment was almost more than she could bear. She found no consolation in talking with Lina, for she knew Lina could not understand her feelings.
"She hasn't any Susy and Prudy at her house, nor noanything" thought Dotty. "If I lived with Mrs. Rosenberg and that dog, I'd want to be locked out; I'd ask if I couldn't. But, O, my darling mamma! I've been naughty too many times! When I'd been naughty fifty, sixty, five hundred times, then she forgave me; but now she can't forgive me any more; it isn't possible."
Dotty staggered against a girl who was drawing a baby-carriage, but recovered herself.
"It isn't possible to forgive me any more. She told me not to go on the water, and I went. She told me not to have temper, and I had it. Every single thing she's told me not to do, I always went and did it. She said, 'I do not wish you to play with Lina Rosenberg;' and then I went right off and played with her. I didn't have a bit good time; but that's nothing. She hided my hat—Lina did; but if I'd gone home, straight home, and not gone to her house, then she couldn't have hided it.
"I was naughty; I was real naughty; I was as naughty as King Herod and King Pharaoh. Nobody'll ever love me. I'm a poororphanlesschild! I've got a father'n mother, but it's just the same as if I didn't, for they won't let me call 'em by it. O, they didn't die, but they won't be any father'n mother to ME!
"'What strange little girl is this?' that's what my papa said. 'Lookslike my daughter Alice!' O, I wish I could die!"
"Come, come," said Lina; "let's go home. Mother said you and I might have some macaroni cakes and lager beer, if we wouldn't let the rest of 'em see us at it."
"I don't care anything about yourlockerbeer, Lina Rosenberg, nor your whiskey and tobacco pipes, either. Nor neither, nor nothing," added the desolate child, standing "stock still," with the back of her head against a pile of bricks, her eyes closed, and her hands folded across her bosom.
"There, there; you're a pretty sight now, Dotty Dimple! What if you should freeze so! Come along and behave."
"I can't, I can't!"
"If you don't, Dotty, I'll have to go into that barber's shop. I know the man, and I'll make him carry you homepiggerback"
"Well, if I've got to go, I'll go," said Dotty, rousing herself, and starting; "but I'd rather be dead, over'n over; and wish I was; so there!"
This day was the longest one to be found in the almanac; it was longer than all the line of railroad from Maine to Indiana and back again.
Dotty shut her lips together, and suffered in silence. But when the afternoon was half spent, it suddenly occurred to her that if she did not go home she should die. Soldiers had died of homesickness, for she had heard her father say so. She had not been able to swallow a mouthful of dinner, and that fact was of itself rather alarming.
"Perhaps I'm going to have thetypo. Any way, my head aches. Besides, my papa didn't say Imustn'tgo home. He said I must finish my visit, and Ihave. O, I've finishedthatall up, ever and ever and ever so long ago."
She and Mandoline went out again to "breathe," Mrs. Rosenberg giving her daughter a warning glance from the doorway, which meant, "Be watchful, Mandy!" for the look of fixed despair on the little prisoner's face gave the woman some anxiety lest she should try to escape.
The unhappy child walked on in silence, twisting a lock of her front hair, and looking up at the sky. A few soft snow-flakes were dropping out of the clouds. Every flake seemed to fall on her heart. Winter was coming. It was a gray, miserable world, and she was left out in the cold. She remembered she had been happy once, but that was ages ago. It wasn't likely she should ever smile again; and as for laughter, she knew that was over with her forever. Susy and Prudy were at home, making book-marks and cologne mats;theycould smile, for they hadn't run away.
"I shouldn't think my mamma'd care if I went in at the back door," thought Dotty, meekly. "If she locks me out, I can lie down on the steps and freeze."
But the question was, how to get away from Mandoline, who had her in charge like a sharp-eyed sheriff.
"That's the street I turn to go to my house—isn't it, Lina?" asked she, quickly.
"I shan't tell you, Dotty Dimple. Why do you ask?"
"'Cause I'm going home. I'm sick. Good by."
"But you musn't go a step, Dotty Dimple."
"Yes, I shall; you're not my mamma, Lina Rosenberg; you mustn't tell me what to do."
"Well, I'm going everywhere you go, Dotty, but I shan't say whether it's the way to your house, or the way to Boston; andyoudon't know."
Dotty was not to be so easily baffled.
"I don't know myself, Lina Rosenberg, but if you're so mean as not to tell, I can ask somebody else thatwilltell—don't you see?"
This was a difficulty which Lina had not provided for. She was very sorryDotty had come out "to breathe."
Very soon they overtook a lady, who pointed out the right street toDotty; and it was in an opposite direction from the one she was taking.
"Now I've found out, Miss Rosenberg, and you can't help yourself."
"Well, I shall go with you, Dotty, just the same. I shall go right up to your house, and tell your mother you've run awayagain"
It was very disagreeable to Miss Dimple to be pursued in this way; but she put on an air of defiance.
"I shouldn't think you'd want to go where you wasn't wanted, MissRosenberg."
Lina had never intended to do such a thing; she had not courage enough.
"O, dear! what shall I do to make you go back with me? My mother'll scold me awfully for letting you get away."
"Well, there; you've got the dreadfulest mother, Lina, and I'm real sorry; but it's no use to tease me; I wouldn't go back, not if you should cut me up into little pieces as big as a cent."
Lina was ready to fall upon her knees, right on the pavement. She offered Dotty paper dolls enough to people a colony; but Miss Dimple was as firm as a rock, now her face was once set towards home. Lina turned on her heel, and slowly walked away. Dotty called after her:—
"There, Lina, now you've told an awful story! You said you'd go to my house, and tell my mother I'd run away again; and now you don't dare go; so you've told an awful wicked story."
With this parting thrust at her tormentor, Dotty turned again to the misery of her own thoughts. Her home was already in sight; but the uncertainty as to her reception there made her little feet falter in their course. Her head sank lower and lower, till her chin snuggled into the hollow of her neck, and her eyes peered out keenly from under her hat, to make sure no one was watching. There was a door-yard on one side of the house. She touched the gate-latch as gently as if it had been a loaded gun, and crept noiselessly along to the side door. Here she paused. Her heart throbbed loudly; but, in spite of that, she could hear Norah walking about, and rattling the covers of the stove, as she put in coal.
Dotty's courage failed. What if Norah should make believe she didn't know her, and shut the door in her face?
"I can't see Norah, and hear her say, 'What strange little girl is this? Itlookslike our Alice; but it can't be any such a child!' No, I can't see anybody. I've finished my visit; I have a right to come home; but p'rhaps they won't think so. I feel's if I wasn't half so good as tea-grounds, or coffee-grounds, or potato-skins," continued she, with a pang of despair. "I know what I'll do; I'll go down cellar; that's where the rats stay; and if Iambad, I hope I'm as good as a rat, for I don't bite."
One of the cellar windows had been left out in order to admit coal. Through this window crept Dotty, regardless of her white stockings and crimson dress. When she had fairly got her head through the opening, and was no longer afraid of being seen, she breathed more freely.
"Here I am! Not a bit of me out. But I must go on my tipsy-toes, or they'll hear me, and think it's abuggler"
There was quite a steep hill to walk over, and she found it anything but a path of roses. Once or twice she stumbled and fell upon her hands and knees.
"Seems to me," said she, drawing out her foot, which had sunk above the ankle in coal,—"seems to me I have as many feet as a caterpillar."
But she kept on, down the Hill of Difficulty, till she reached solid ground. It was not a very cheerful apartment, that is certain. The light had much difficulty in getting in at the little windows, and when it did fight its way through it was not good for much; it was a gloomy light, and looked as if it had had a hard time.
Dotty went up to the furnace for comfort. It was a tall, black thing, doing its best to give warmth and cheer to the rooms up stairs, but it was of no use to the cellar. It was like some brilliant people, who shine in society, but are dull and stupid at home. Dotty opened the furnace door, and tried to warm her cold fingers.
"Why, my hands are as black as asip," sighed she; as if she could have expected anything else.
There did not seem to be one ray of hope in her little dark soul. She had no tears to shed,—she seldom had,—but when she was in trouble, she was always in the lowest depths.
"Pretty well for me to make believe I was a thief, and was going to steal! 'Who is this strange little girl?' said he; 'itlookslike—'"
She heard voices near the cellar door. What if Norah should come down after butter? Dotty was not prepared for that. She could not hide in the keg of lard, of course; and whatshouldshe do?
"My head is tipside up; I can't think." Then she began to wonder how long she could live down there, in case she was not discovered.
"I s'pose I can climb up on the swing shelf, and sleep there nights. I can hide behind things in the daytime, and when I'm hungry I can eat out of the jars and boxes."
The sound of voices came down distinctly from the kitchen overhead. Dotty crouched behind an apple barrel, and listened. Grandma Read was talking to Mrs. Parlin, who seemed to be in another room.
"Mary, my glassesaregone this time," said she. "If little Alice were only here, I should set her to hunting."
"She don't know I'm in the house this minute," thought Dotty; "no,underthe house. Dear me!"
With that she walked softly up the stairs, and listened at the door-latch; for the sound of her grandmother's voice was encouraging, and Dotty, in her loneliness, longed to be near the dear people of the family, even if she could not see them.
"Edward," said her mother,—what music there was in her voice!—"if you are going after that dear child, you'd better take a shawl to wrap her in, for it is snowing fast. And be sure to tell her we love her dearly, every one of us, and don't believe she will ever run away again."
"O, was her papa going after her? Did they love her, after all? Were they willing to keep her in the house?"
Dotty opened the door before she knew it. "O, mamma, mamma!" cried she, rushing into her mother's arms.
"Why, Dotty, you darling child, where did you come from?" exclaimed Mrs. Parlin, in great surprise, kissing the little, dirty girl, and taking her right to her heart, in spite of the coal-dust.
"If you'll let me stay at home," gasped Dotty, "if you'llletme stay at home, I'll live in the kitchen, and won't go near the table."
"Wheredid youcome from?" said Mr. Parlin, kissing a clean place onDotty's black face, and laughing under his breath.
"I came through the cellar window, papa."
"Through the cellar window, child?"
"Yes, papa; I didn't s'pose you'd care!"
"Care! My dear, your mother is the one to care! Just look at your stockings!"
"There was coal there, thrown in," said Dotty, with a quivering lip; "and I had to walk over it, and under it, and through it."
"Was my little daughter afraid to come in by the door?"
"I didn't know's you wanted me, papa.
"I thought you'd say, 'What strange child is this?'"
Mr. Parlin, looking at the black streaks on Dotty's woeful face, found it very difficult to keep from laughing. "A strange child' she appeared to be, certainly.
"But I'd got my visit all finished up, ever and ever so long ago."
"So you really chose to come back to us, my dear?"
"O, papa, you don't know! Did you think, did you s'pose—"
Here Dotty broke down completely, and, seizing her father's shirt-bosom in both her grimy hands, she buried her face in it, and sprinkled it with tears of ink.
There was great surprise throughout the house when Dotty's arrival became known.
"We didn't know how to live without you any longer," said Prudy; "and tomorrow Thanksgiving Day."
"But I never should have come up," said Dotty, "if I hadn't heard mamma talk about loving me just the same; I nevercouldhave come up."
"Excuse me for smiling," said Prudy; "but you look as if you had fallen into the inkstand. It issofunny!"
Dotty was not at all amused herself; but after she was dressed in clean clothes, she felt very happy, and enjoyed her supper remarkably well. The thought that they "didn't know how to live without her" gave a relish to every mouthful.
It was a delightful evening to the little wanderer. The parlor looked so cheerful in the rosy firelight that Dotty thought she "would like to kiss every single thing in the room." It was unpleasant out of doors, and the wind blew as if all the people in the world were deaf, and must be made to hear; but Dotty did not mind that. She looked out of the window, and said to Prudy,—
"Seems as if the wind had blown out all the stars; but no matter—is it?It is all nice in the house."
Then she dropped the curtain, and went to sit in her mother's lap. Not a word of reproach had been uttered by any one yet; for it was thought the child had suffered enough.
"Mamma," said Dotty, laying her tired head on her mother's bosom, "don't you think I'm like the prodigal's—daughter? Yesterday I felt a whisper 'way down in my mind,—I didn't hear it, but Ifeltit,—and it said, 'You mustn't disobey your mamma; you mustn't play with Lina Rosenberg!'"
"Only think, my child, if you had only paid attention to that whisper!"
"Yes, mamma, but I tried to forget it, and by and by I did forget it—almost. There's one thing I know," added Dotty, clasping her hands together; "I'll never run away again. If I'm going to, I'll catch myself by the shoulder, and hold on just as hard!"
"My blessed child, I hope so," said Mrs. Parfin, with tears in her eyes and a stronger faith in her heart than she had felt for many a day that Dotty really meant to do better. "You don't know how it did distress your papa and me to have you stay in that house a night and a day; but we hoped it would prove a lesson to you; we meant it for your best good."
To make sure the lesson would not be forgotten, Prudy read her little sister a private lecture. She had written it that afternoon with carmine ink, on the nicest of tinted paper. Dotty received it very humbly, and laid it away in the rosewood box with her precious things.
* * * * *
"We must keep good company, Dotty, or not any at all. This is a fact.
"Even an apple is known by the company it keeps. Grandpa Parlin says if you put apples in a potato bin, they won't taste like apples—they'll taste like potatoes.
"Sometimes I think, Dotty, you'd be as good and nice as a summer-sweeting, if you wouldn't play with naughty children, like Lina Rosenberg; but if you do, you'll be like a potato, as true as you live.
"Finis."
The next day was Thanksgiving. Dotty wakened in such a happy mood that it seemed to her the world had never looked so bright before.
"I don't think, Prudy, it's the turkey and plum pudding we're going to have that makes me so happy—do you?"
"What is it, then, little sister?"
"O, it's 'cause I dreamed I was sleeping on pin-feathers, and woke up and found I wasn't. You'd feel a great deal better, Prudy, if you'd run away and had such a dreadful time, and got home again."
"I don't want to try it," returned Prudy, with a smile.
"No; but it's so nice to be forgiven!" said Dotty, laying her hand on her heart, "it makes you feel so easy right in here."
A fear came over Prudy that the little runaway had not been punished enough. But Dotty went on:—
"It makes you feel as if you'd never be naughty again. Now, if my mamma was always thumping me with a thimble, and scolding me so as to shake the house, I shouldn't care; but when she is just like an angel, and forgives me, Idocare."
"I'm so glad, Dotty! I think, honestly, mother's the best woman that ever lived."
"Then why didn't she marry the best man?" asked Dotty, quickly.
"Who is that?"
"Why, Abraham Lincoln, of course." Prudy laughed.
"Yes; I suppose Mr. Lincoln was the best man that ever lived; but papa comes next."
"Yes," said Dotty; "I think he does. And I'd rather have him for a father than Mr. Lincoln, 'cause I'm better 'quainted with him. I shouldn't dare kiss the President. And, besides that, he's dead."
"You're a funny girl, Dotty; but what you say is true. Everything happens just right in this world."
"Does it?" said Dotty, wrinkling her brows anxiously; "does it, now truly?"
"Yes, indeed, Dotty. Anybody wouldn't think so, but it does."
"Then I suppose it happens right for me to be a bad girl and run away."
"No, indeed, Dotty; because you can help it. Everything is right that wecan'thelp; that's what I mean."
"Then I s'pose 'twas right for me to crawl through the cellar window," said Dotty; "for I'm sure I couldn't help it"
"O, dear me! you ask such queer questions that I can't answer them, Dotty Dimple. All I know is this: everything happens just right in this world—when you can't help it."
With which sage remark Prudy stepped out of bed, and began to dress herself. Dotty planted her elbow in the pillow, and leaned her head on her hand.
"I don't believe it happens just right for Mrs. Rosenberg to keep that dog, or to thump so with a thimble; but, then, I don't know."
"I'm hurrying to get dressed," said Prudy. "The first bell has rung."
"Why, I never heard it," cried Dotty, springing up. "I wouldn't be late to-day for anything."
Prudy looked anxiously at her little sister to see if she was cross; but her face was as serene as the cloudless sky; she had waked up right, and meant to be good all day. When Dotty had one of her especially good days, Prudy's cup of happiness was full. She ran down stairs singing,—
"Thank God for pleasant weather!Shout it merrily, ye hills,And clap your hands together,Ye exulting little rills.
"Thank him, bird and birdling,As ye grow and sing;Mingle in thanksgiving,Every living thing,Every living thing,Every living thing."
Dotty was so anxious to redeem her character in everybody's eyes, that she hardly knew what she was doing. Mrs. Parlin sent her into the kitchen with a message to Norah concerning the turkey; but she forgot it on the way, and stood by Norah's elbow gazing at the raisins, fruit, and other nice things in a maze.
"What did my mamma send me here for? She ought to said it over twice. Any way, Norah, now I think of it, I wish you please wouldn't starch my aprons on the inside; starch 'em on the outside, 'cause they rub against my neck."
"Go back and see what your mamma wants," said Norah, laughing.
"Why, mamma," cried Dotty reappearing in the parlor quite crestfallen—" why, mamma, I went right up to Norah to ask her, and asked her something else. My head spins dreadfully."
Mrs. Parlin repeated the message; and Dotty delivered it this time correctly, adding,—
"Now, Norah, I'm all dressed for dinner; so I can do something for you just as well as not. Such days as, this, when you have so much to do, you ought to let me help."
To Dotty's surprise Norah found this suggestion rather amusing.
"For mercy's sake," said she, "I have got my hands full now; and when you are round, Miss Dotty, and have one of your good fits, it seems as if I should fly."
"What do you mean by a good fit?"
"Why, you have spells, child—you know you do—when butter wouldn't melt in your mouth."
"Do I?" said Dotty. "I thought butter always melted in anybody's mouth.Does it make my mouth cold to be good, d'ye s'pose?"
"La, me, I don't know," replied the girl, washing a potato vigorously.
"Imight wash those potatoes," said Dotty, plucking Norah's sleeve; "do you put soap on them?"
"Not much soap—no."
"Well, then, Norah, you shouldn't putanysoap on them; that's why I asked; for my mother just washes and rinses 'em; that's the proper way."
"For pity's sake," said Norah, giving the little busybody a good-natured push. "What's going on in the parlor, Miss Dotty? You'd better run and see. If you should go in there and look out of the window, perhaps a monkey would come along with an organ."
"No, he wouldn't, Norah, and if he did, Prudy'd let me know."
As Dotty spoke she was employed in slicing an onion, while the tears ran down her cheeks; but a scream from Norah caused her to drop the knife.
"Why, what is it?" said Dotty.
"Ugh! It's some horrid littleanimilcrawling down my neck."
"Let me get him," cried Dotty, seizing a pin, and rushing at poor Norah, who tried in vain to ward off the pin and at the same time catch the spider.
"Willyou let me alone, child?"
"No, no; I want the bug myself," cried Dotty, pricking Norah on the cheek.
"Want the bug?"
"Yes; mayn't I stick him through with a pin from ear to ear? I know a lady Out West that's making a c'lection of bugs."
"Well, here he is, then; and a pretty scrape I've had catching him; thanks be to you all the same, Miss Dimple."
As it turned out to be only a hair-pin, Dotty shook her head in disdain, and went on slicing onions.
"Sure now," said Norah, "I should think you'd be wanting to go and see what's become of your sister Prudy. Maybe she's off on the street somewhere, and never asked you to go with her."
"Now you're telling a hint," exclaimed Dotty, making a dash at a turnip. "I know what you mean by your monkeys and things; you want to get me away. It's not polite to tell hints, Norah; my mamma says so."
But as Dotty began to see that she really was not wanted, she concluded to go, though she must have it seem that she went of her own accord, and not because of Norah's "hints."
"Did you think it was a buggler, when I opened the cellar-door last night, Norah?"
"No; I can't say as I did—not when I looked at you," repliedNorah, gravely.
"'Cause I'm going into the parlor to ask mother ifshethought I was a buggler. I believe I won't help you any more now, Norah; p'rhaps I'll come out by and by."
So Dotty skipped away; but it never occurred to her that she had been troublesome. She merely thought it very strange Norah did not appreciate her services.
"I s'pose she knows mother'll help her if I don't," said she to herself.
Dotty's goodness ran on with a ceaseless flow till two o'clock, when that event took place which the children regarded as the most important one of the day—that is, dinner.
After the silent blessing, Mr. Parlin turned to his youngest daughter, and said,—
"Alice, do you know what Thanksgiving Day is for?"
"Yes, sir; for turkey."
"Is that all?"
"No, sir; for plum pudding."
"What do you think about it, Prudy?"
"I think the same as Dotty does, sir," replied Prudy, with a wistful glance at her father's right hand, which held the carving knife.
"What do you say, Susy?"
"It comes in the almanac, just like Christmas, sir; and it's something about the Pilgrim Fathers and the Mayflower."
"No, Susy; it does not come in the almanac; the Governor appoints it. We have so many blessings that he sets apart one day in the year in which we are to think them over, and be thankful for them."
"Yes, sir; yes, indeed," said Susy. "Ialwaysknew that."
"Now, before I carve the turkey, what if I ask the question all around what we feel most thankful for to-day? We will begin with grandmamma."
"If thee asks me first," said grandma Read, clasping her blue-veined, beautiful old hands, "I shall say I have everything to be thankful for; but I am most thankful for peace. Thee knows how I feel about war."
The children thought this a strange answer. They had almost forgotten there had ever been a war.
"Now, Mary, what have you to say?" asked Mr. Parlin of his wife.
"I am thankful we are all alive," replied Mrs. Parlin, looking at the faces around the table with a loving smile.
"And I," said her husband, "am thankful we all have our eyesight. I have thought more about it since I have visited two or three Blind Asylums. Susy, it is your turn."
"Papa, I'm thankful I'm so near thirteen."
Mr. Parlin stroked his mustache to hide a smile. He thought that was a veryyoungremark.
"And you, Prudy?"
"I'm so thankful, sir," answered Prudy, reflecting a while, "so thankfulthishouse isn't burnt up."
"Bless your little grateful heart," said her father, leaning towards her and stroking her cheek. "For my part, I think one fire is quite enough for one family. I confess I never should have dreamed of being thankful we hadn't hadtwo. Well, Alice, what have you to say? I see a thought in your eyes."
"Why, papa," said Dotty, laying her forefingers together with emphasis,"I've known what I'm thankful for, for two days. I'm thankful Mrs.Rosenberg isn't my mother!"
A smile went around the table.
"But, papa, I am, truly. What should I wantherfor a mother for?"
"Indeed, I see no reason, my child, since you already have a pretty good mother of your own."
"Pretty good, papa!" said Dotty, in a tone of mild reproof. "Why, if she was YOUR mother, you'd think she wasverygood."
"Granted," returned Mr. Parlin.
"I don't think you'd like it, papa, to have her scold so she shakes down cobwebs."
"Who?"
"Mrs. Rosenberg."
"Never mind, my dear; we will not discuss that woman to-day. I hope you will some time learn to pronounce her name."
Then followed a few remarks from Mr. Parlin upon our duty to the Giver of all good things; after which he began at last to carve the turkey. The children thought it was certainly time he did so. They were afraid their thankfulness would die out if they did not have something to eat pretty soon.
Grandma Read was in her own room, sitting before a bright "clean" fire. She did not like coal; she said it made too much dust; so she always used wood. She sat with her knitting in her hands, clicking the needles merrily while she looked into the coals.
People can see a great many things in coals. Just now she saw the face of her dear husband, who had long ago been buried out of her sight. He had a broad-brimmed hat on his head, and there was a twinkle in his eye, for he had been a funny man, and very fond of a joke. Grandma smiled as if she could almost hear him tell one of his droll stories.
Presently there was a little tap at the door. Grandma roused herself, and looked up to see who was coming.
"Walk in," said she; "walk in, my dear."
"Yes'm, we came a-purpose to walk in," replied a cheery voice; and Prudy and Dotty danced into the room, with their arms about each other's waists.
"O, how pleasant it seems in here!" said Prudy; "when I come in I always feel just like singing."
"Thee likes my clean fire," said grandma.
"But, grandma," said Dotty, "I should think you'd be lonesome 'thout anybody butyou."
"No, my dear; the room is always full."
"Full, grandma?"
"Yes; full ofmemories."
The children looked about; but they only two sunny windows; a table with books on it, and a pair of gold fishes; a bed with snowy coverlet and very high pillows; a green and white carpet; a mahogany bureau and washing-stand; and then the bright fireplace, with a marble mantel, and a pair of gilt bellows hanging on a brass nail.
It was a very neat and cheerful room; but they could not understand why there should be any more memories in it than there were in any other part of the house.
"We old people live very much in the past," said grandma Read. "Prudence, if thee'll pick up this stitch for me, I will tell thee what I was thinking of when thee and Alice came in."
So saying, she held out the little red mitten she was knitting, and at the same time took the spectacles off her nose and offered them to Prudy. Prudy laughed.
"Why, grandma! my eyes are as good as can be. I don't wear glasses."
"So thee doesn't, child, surely. I am a little absent-minded, thinking of old mother Knowles."
"Grandma, please wait a minute," said Prudy, after she had picked up the stitch. "If you are going to tell a story, I want to get my work and bring it in here. I'm in a hurry about that scarf for mamma."
"It is nothing very remarkable," said Mrs. Read, as the children seated themselves, one on each side of her, Prudy with her crocheting of violet and white worsted, and Dotty with nothing at all to do but play with the tongs.
"Mrs. Knowles was a very large, fleshy woman, who lived near my father's house when I was a little girl. Some people were very much afraid of her, and thought her a witch. Her sister's husband, Mr. Palmer, got very angry with her, and declared she bewitched his cattle."
"Did she, grandma?" asked Dotty.
"No, indeed, my dear; and couldn't have done it if she had tried."
"Then 'twas veryunpertinentfor him to say so!"
"He was a lazy man, and did not take proper care of his animals. Sometimes he came over and talked with my mother about his trials with his wicked sister-in-law. He said he often went to the barn in the morning, and found his poor cattle had walked up to the top of the scaffold; and how could they do that unless they were bewitched?"
"Did they truly do it? I know what the scaffold is; it is a high place where you look for hen's eggs."
"Yes; I believe the cows did really walk up there; but this was the way it happened, Alice: They were not properly fastened into their stalls, and being very hungry, they went into the barn for something to eat. The barn floor was covered with hay, and there was a hill of hay which led right up to the scaffold; so they could get there well enough without being bewitched."
"Did your mother—my great-grandma—believe in witches?" asked Prudy."What did she say to Mr. Palmer?"
"O, no! she had no faith in witches; thy great grandmother was a sensible woman." She said to him, "Friend Asa, thee'd better have some good strong bows made for thy cattle, and put on their necks; and then I think thee'll find they can't get out of their stalls. Thee says they are as lean as Pharaoh's kine, and I would advise thee to feed them better. Cattle that are well fed and well cared for will never go bewitched."
"Did Mrs. Knowles know what people said about her?" asked Prudy.
"Yes; she heard the stories, and it made her feel very badly."
"How did she look?"
"A little like thy grandmother Parlin, if I remember, only she was much larger."
"Did she know anything?"
"O, yes; it was rather an ignorant neighborhood; but she was one of the most intelligent women in it."
"Did she ever go anywhere?"
"Yes; she came to my mother for sympathy. I remember just how she looked in her tow and linen dress, with her hair fastened at the back of the head with a goose-quill."
"There, there!" cried Dotty, "that was what made 'em call her a witch!"
"O, no; a goose-quill was quite a common fashion in those times, and a great deal prettier, too, than the waterfalls thee sees nowadays. Mrs. Knowles dressed like other people, and looked like other people, for aught I know; but I wished she would not come to our house so much."
"Didn't you like her?"
"Yes; I liked her very well, for she carried peppermints in a black bag on her arm; but I was afraid the stories were true, and she might bewitch my mother."
"Why, grandma, I shouldn't have thought that ofyou!"
"I was a very small girl then, Prudence; and the children I played with belonged, for the most part, to ignorant families."
"Grandma was like an apple playing with potatoes," remarked Dotty, one side to Prudy.
"I used to watch Mrs. Knowles," continued Mrs. Read, "hoping to see her cry; for they said if she was really a witch, she could shed but three tears, and those out of her left eye."
"Did you ever catch her crying?"
"Once," replied grandma, with a smile; "and then she kept her handkerchief at her face. I was quite disappointed, for I couldn't tell which eye she cried out of."
"Please tell some more," said Dotty.
"They said Mrs. Knowles was often seen in a high wind riding off on a broomstick. It ought to have been a strong broomstick, for she was a very large woman."
"Why, grandma," said Prudy, thrusting her hook into a stitch, "I can't help thinking what queer days you lived in! Now, when I talk tomygrandchildren, I shall tell them of such beautiful things; of swings and picnics, and Christmas trees."
"So shall I tomygrandchildren," said Dotty; "but not always. I shall have to look sober sometimes, and tell 'em how I had the sore throat, and couldn't swallow anything but boiled custards and cream toast. 'For,' says I, 'children, it wasverydifferent in those days.'"
"Ah, well, you little folks look forward, and we old folks look backward; but it all seems like a dream, either way, to me," said grandma Read, binding off the thumb of her little red mitten—"like a dream when it is told."
"Speaking of telling dreams, grandma, I had a funny one last night," saidPrudy, "about a queer old gentleman. Guess who it was."
"Thy grandfather, perhaps. Does thee remember, Alice, how thee used to sit on his knee and comb his hair with a toothpick?"
"I don't think 'twas me," said Dotty; "for I wasn't born then."
"It was I," replied Prudy. "I remember grandpa now, but I didn't use to.It wasn't grandpa I dreamed about—it was Santa Claus."
Grandma smiled, and raised her spectacles to the top of her forehead.
"We never talked about fairies in my day," said she. "I never heard of aSanta Claus when I was young."
"Well, grandma, he came down the chimney in a coach that looked like a Quaker bonnet on wheels—but he was all a-dazzle with gold buttons; and what do you think he said?"
"Something very foolish, I presume."
"He said, 'Miss Prudy, I'm going to be married.' Only think! and he such a very old bachelor."
"Did thee dream out the bride?"
"It was Mother Goose."
"Very well," said Mrs. Read, smiling. "I should think that was a very good match."
"She did look so funny, grandma, with a great hump on her nose, and one on her back! Santa Claus kissed her; and what do you think she said?"
"I am sure I can't tell; I am not acquainted with thy fairy folks."
"Why, she shook her sides, and, said she, 'Sing a song o' sixpence.'"
"That was as sensible a speech as thee could expect from that quarter."
"O, grandma, you don't care anything about my dream, or I could go on and describe the wedding-cake; how she put sage in it, and pepper, and mustard, and baked it on top of one of our registers. What do you suppose made me dream such a queer thing?"
"Thee was probably thinking of thy mother's wedding."
"O, Christmas is going to be splendided than ever, this year," said Dotty; "isn't it grandma? Did you have any Christmases when you were young?"
"O, yes; but we didn't make much account of Christmas in those days."
"Why, grandma! I knew you lived on bean porridge, but I s'posed you had something to eat Christmas!"
"O, sometimes I had a little saucer-pie, sweetened with molasses, and the crust made of raised dough."
"Poor, dear grandma!"
"I remember my father used to put a great backlog on the fire Christmas morning, as large as the fireplace would hold; and that was all the celebration we ever had."
"Didn't you have Christmas presents?"
"No, Alice; not so much as a brass thimble."
"Poor grandma! I shouldn't think you would have wanted to live! Didn't anybody love you?" said Dotty, putting her fingers under Mrs. Read's cap, and smoothing her soft gray hair; "why, I love every hair of your head."
"I am glad thee does, child; but that doesn't take much love, for thee knows I haven't a great deal of hair."
"But, grandma, how could you live without Christmas trees and things?"
"I was happy enough, Alice."
"But you'd have been a great deal happier, grandma, if you'd had a SantaClaus! It's so nice to believe what isn't true!"
"Ah! does thee think so? There was one thing I believed when I was a very little girl, and it was not true. I believed the cattle knelt at midnight on Christmas eve."
"Knelt, grandma? For what?"
"Because our blessed Lord was born in a manger."
"But they didn't know that. Cows can't read the Bible."
"It was an idle story, of course, like the one about Mother Knowles. A man who worked at our house, Israel Grossman, told it to me, and I thought it was true."
Here grandma gazed into the coals again. She could see Israel Grossman sitting on a stump, whittling a stick and puffing away at a short pipe.
"Well, children," said she, "I have talked to you long enough about things that are past and gone. On the whole, I don't say they were good old times, for the times now are a great deal better."
"Yes, indeed," said Prudy.
"Except one thing," added grandma, looking at Dotty, who was snapping the tongs together. "Children had more to do in my day than they have now."
Dotty blushed.
"Grandma," said she, "I'm having a playtime, you know, 'cause there can't anybody stop to fix my work. But mother says after the holidays I'm going to have a stint every day."
"That's right, dear. Now thee may run down and get me a skein of red yarn thee will find on the top shelf in the nursery closet."