But the next afternoon, as the two little girls were walking home together, Dotty said to Jennie, with a very wise face,—

"Grandma has told me what the Bible means. Now I understand every single thing."

Jennie did not seem as much delighted as had been expected.

"She says God can get that camel through a needle."

"O, I remember," said Jennie; "you mean that Bible camel."

"There isn't anything He can't do," continued Dotty; "the richest men, richer than your father, can get to heaven if God's a mind to take 'em."

"Not bad people," said Jennie, shaking her head.

"I don't know about that; she didn't say," said Dotty, looking puzzled. "O, no, I s'pose not. God wouldn't be a mind to. For don't you see, Jennie Vance, it's just like a camel. There can't anybody go through themselves unless God pulls 'em through."

I don't know what Grandma Parlin would have thought if she had heard her words chopped up in this way; but it made very little difference to Jennie, who paid no attention at all.

"You're father'll get there," added Dotty; "so I thought I'd tell you."

"Your shoestring's untied," said Jennie, coolly.

"And I don't care now if you are the richest," said Dotty, stooping to tie the string; "for God loves me just as well when I wear Prudy's old things; and so do all the good people in this town, and the minister too; grandma said so. I don't care how much you talk about our old Deacon, or our eating molasses. That isn't anything! Grandma says its harder for rich children to be good, and I told her I was real glad I was half-poor."

"You're stepping right in the mud," cried Jennie.

"And then Grandma said that it didn't make any difference any way about that, if I only loved God; but if I didn't love God, it did."

"There," said Jennie, "I haven't heard half you've said; and I guess you've forgotten all about going strawberrying."

"I almost know grandma won't be willing," replied Dotty; "we've got company, too; see those ladies in the window."

"All the better," replied Jennie, cheerily. "You go in and behave as beautifully as ever you can, and your grandma'll be so busy talking, she'll say yes before she thinks. That's the way my mamma does. Say 'Crossman's orchard,' remember, but don't tell which one."

So Jennie staid outside while Dotty entered the parlor softly, and stood by her grandmother's chair, waiting the proper time to speak.

"Strawberrying, did you say?" asked Mrs. Parlin, presently.

"Yes, grandma; the berries are just as thick."

"O, just as fick!" repeated Katie, clapping her hands.

"In the Crossman orchard," added Dotty.

"Prosser Horcher," put in Katie, choking a little at the large words. "May her, gamma?"

Now, Dotty knew, as her grandmother did not, that there were two orchards; and the one she meant was a mile and a half away.

"Yes, you may go, Alice; it is only a few steps; but put on an old dress, and don't stay late; you know you are hardly well since your sore throat."

Dotty had not actually told a wrong story, but for almost the first time she had deceived, and she knew the sin was the same. While she was exchanging her pretty pink frock for one of dark calico, her conscience pricked so painfully that she almost wished to stay at home.

"Just as soon as we get out of the village," said Jennie, "I'm going barefoot; mother said I might."

"How splendid your mother is!" sighed Dotty. "Grandma's so particular! But any way I'm going without my stockings; I declare I will. My throat's so far away from my feet, what hurt will it do?"

"Children, obey your parents," said the troublesome voice.

"Grandma isn't my parent," thought Dotty, tugging away at her boot-lacings. They went out through the kitchen, to get Dotty's red and white picnic basket; but they crept like a pair of thieves, lest Ruthie, who was mixing waffles, should hear them, and take notice of Dotty's bare ankles.

Once out of the village, it did not take long for Miss Dimple to slip off her boots and tuck them in her pocket.

"O, how nice and cool!" murmured she, poking her little pink toes into the burning sand; till presently, a thorn, which appeared to be waiting for that very purpose, thrust its way deep into her foot. She sat down in the middle of the road and screamed. Jennie tried her best to draw out the thorn, but only succeeded in breaking it off. Then, with a clumsy pin, she made a voyage of discovery round and round in the soft flesh of Dotty's foot, never hitting the thorn, or coming anywhere near it.

"O, dear!" said Jennie, petulantly; "we've wasted half an hour! What's the use for you to be always getting into trouble? A great many berries we shall have at this rate! and I was going to ask my mamma to let me have a party."

"There!" said Dotty, bravely, "I'm going right along now, and no more fuss about it."

It was hard work; Dotty limped badly; and all the while the cruel thorn was triumphantly working its way farther in. The Crossman orchard was not very far away now; but when they had reached it, and had crept under the fence, why, where were the strawberries? What the boys had not gathered they had trampled down; and the truth was, there had been very few in the first place. There was nothing to do but pluck here and there a stray berry, and make the most of it.

"This is what I call a shame," sighed Jennie; "and look at the sky; it's growing as black as a pickpocket."

"Why, yes," moaned Dotty; "how fast that sun has gone down!"

But this was a mistake. It was only six o'clock. The sun, understanding his business perfectly, had not hurried one jot. The clouds were merely spreading a dark background for some magnificent fireworks; in other words, a thunder-shower was coming up.

"Let's go right straight home," said Jennie; and Dotty was glad to hear the words, for in her own brave little heart she had determined not to be the first to surrender.

"Let's go across the fields," she replied; "it's the nearest way home."

By this time heavy drops were pattering down on the long grass, and making a hollow sound on the little girls' hats.

"Why, it's raining," remarked Dotty.

"You don't say so," sniffed Jennie, whose temper was quite upset, "perhaps you think you're telling some news."

Then came the frightful boom of thunder.

"What's that?" whispered Dotty, with white lips. "I'm afraid, Jennie; I certainly am."

"For shame, Dotty Dimple! I thought you were the girl that knew all about God and the Bible. I shouldn't think you'd be afraid of thunder!"

"O, but I am!" was the meek reply. "I'm as afraid as I can live."

"There, hush up, Dotty! When you've been and got us into a fix, you'd better keep still."

"I, Jennie Vance? I never! What a story!"

"You did, Miss Dimple; you spelt it out in the Reader,—'straw-bry;' or I shouldn't have thought of such a thing."

"Well, I didn't care much about going, now truly, Jennie; for I don't feel very well."

"You seemed to be very much pleased. You said, 'How nice!' as much as twice; and didn't you almost laugh out loud in the spelling class? Hark! what a clap!"

"I should think you'd be ashamed," said poor Dotty, hopping on one foot. "When I laughed it was to see Charlie Gray make up faces. And should I have gone barefoot if it hadn't been for you?"

"Well, there, Dotty Dimple, you're a smart little girl, I must say! I don't mean to ask you to my party, if my mother lets me have one; and I've a great mind not to speak to you again as long as I live."

"I shouldn't think you'd dare to quarrel, Jennie Vance, when you may die the next minute. Let's get under this tree."

"Lightning strikes trees, you goosie!"

"O, Jennie Vance! isn't there a barn anywhere in this great pasture?"

"Men don't keep barns in their pastures, Dot Dimple; and lightning strikes barns too, quicker'n a flash!"

Dotty covered her face with her hands.

"You don't seem to know scarcely anything," continued Jennie, soothingly. "I don't believe you know what a conductor is."

"Of course I do. It's the man on the cars that takes your ticket."

"No; that's one kind; but in storms like this a conductor is a—a conductor is a—why, I mean if a thing is a conductor, Dotty,—why then the thunder and lightning conducts it all to pieces, and that's the last there is of it! My father's got a book of hijommerty that tells all about such things. You can't know for certain. Just as likely as not, now, our baskets are conductors; and then again perhaps they are non; and I don't know which is the worst. If we were sure they were either one, we ought to throw 'em away! that's a fact!"

"Yes, indeed!" cried Dotty, tossing hers behind her as if it had been a living scorpion. "Do you s'pose hats will conduct?"

"Nonsense! no. I didn't say baskets would, did I?" returned Jennie, who still held her own dangling from her arm. "Yours was a perfect beauty, Dot. What a fuss you make!"

As Dotty had all this while been stifling her groans of pain, and had also been careful not to express a hundredth part of her real terror of lightning, she thought her friend's words were, to say the least, a little severe.

"Why, this is queer," cried Jennie, stopping short. "It's growing wet here; haven't you noticed it? Now I've thought of something. There's a bog in this town, somewhere, so awful and deep that once a boy slumped into it, don't you think, up to his waist; and the more he tried to get out the more he couldn't; and there he was, slump, slump, and got in as far as his neck. And he screamed till he was black and blue; and when they went to him there wasn't a bit of him out but the end of his nose, and he couldn't scream any more; so all they could do was to pull him out by the hair of his head."

"Is that a true story, now, honest?" cried Dotty, wringing her hands. "How dreadful, dreadful, dreadful! What shall we do?"

"Do?" was the demure reply; "stand as stock-still as ever we can, and try not to shake when we breathe. Next thing we might slump."

"I do shake," said Dotty; "I can't help it."

"Don't you say anything, Dotty Dimple. I never should have thought of going across lots if you hadn't wanted to; and now you'd better keep still."

So even this horrid predicament was owing to Dotty; she was to blame for everything. "Stock-still" they stood under the beating rain, their hearts throbbing harder than the drops.

Yes, there certainly was a bottomless pond—Dotty had heard of it; on its borders grew the pitcher-plant which Uncle Henry had brought home once. It was a green pitcher, very pretty, and if it had been glass it could have been set on the table with maple molasses in it (only nobody but poor people used molasses).

O, there was a deep, deep pond, and grass grew round it and in it; and Uncle Henry had said it was no place for children; they could not be trusted to walk anywhere near it, for one false step might lead them into danger. And now they had come to this very spot, this place of unknown horrors! What should they do? Should they stand there and be struck by lightning, or try to go on, and only sink deeper and deeper till they choked and drowned?

Never in all Dotty's little life had she been in such a strait as this. She cried so loud that her voice was heard above the storm, in unearthly shrieks. She didn't want to die! O, it was so nice to be alive! She would as lief have the sore throat all the time, if she might only be alive. She said not a word, but the thoughts flew through her mind like a flock of startled swallows,—not one after another, but all together; and so fast that they almost took her breath away.

And O, such a naughty girl as she had been! Going barefoot! Telling a story about Crossman's orchard! Making believe she never fibbed, when she did the same thing as that, and she knew she did. Running off to play when grandma wished her to stay with Flyaway. Feeding Zip Coon with plum cake to see him wag his tail, and never telling but it was brown bread. Getting angry with the chairs and tables, and people. Doing all manner of wickednesses.

Dotty was appalled by the thought of one sin in particular. She remembered that in repeating the Lord's prayer once, she had asked for "daily bread and butter." Her mother had reproved her for it, but she had done the same thing again and again. By and by, when her mother positively forbade her to say "butter," she had said "bread and molasses;" "for, mamma," said she, "you know I don't like bare bread."

"I s'pose Miss Preston would say that was the awfulest wickedness of all, and I guess it was. O, dear!"

Well, if she ever got home she would be a better girl. But it wasn't likely she ever should get home.

"Why, Jennie," said she, speaking now for the first time, "here we are; and when we stand still we don't move at all; we don't go home a bit, Jennie."

"Of course not, Dotty Dimple; that's a very bright speech! I've thought the same thought my own self before ever you did!"

Another silence, broken only by the pitter patter of the rain; for the thunder was growing less and less frequent.

"But we must go home some time," cried Jennie with energy. "If it kills us to death we must go home. Just you put your foot out, Dotty dear, and see if it sinks way down, down. I thought it was beginning to grow a little soft right here."

"O, dear, I don't dare to!" groaned Dotty, shaking with a nervous chill; "you put your foot in your own self, Jennie Vance, and see where it goes to. I don't want to slump down up to my hair any more'n you do. What do you s'pose!"

"Fie! for shame, Dotty Dimple! I always thought you were a coward, and now I know it! What if I should give you my ring, made of all carrot gold, would you do it then? Just nothing but put your foot out?"

"Would you give me the ring now, honest?" said Dotty, raising her little foot cautiously; "certain true?"

"Why, you know, Dotty, if I said I would, I would."

A sudden thought was darting across Dotty's mind, like another startled swallow; only this one came alone, and did not take her breath away; for it was a pleasant thought—Where were they? Whose field was this?

Why, it was Mr. Gordon's pasture. And Johnny came here for the cow every night of his life. And, as true as the world, there was the Gordon cow now, the red and white one, standing by the fence, lowing for Johnny.

"A great deal of bottomless pond this is, and so I should think!" said Dotty to herself with a smile. "Where a cow can go I guess I can go with my little feet. Soft? why, it isn't any softer than anybody's field is after it rains."

So, without saying a word, the little girl put her foot out, and of course it touched solid earth.

"There!" she cried, "I did it, I did it! You said I was a coward; and who's a coward now? Where's your gold ring, Jennie Vance?"

"Why, the ground is as hard as a nut, I declare," said Jennie, walking along after Dotty with great satisfaction. "I didn't much think there was a swamp in this field all the time. Only I thought, if there was, what a scrape it would be! Come to think of it, I believe that bottomless pond is in the town of Augusta."

"No," replied Dotty, "it's on the other side of the river. I know, for Uncle Henry went to it in a boat. But where's my ring?"

"I don't know anything about your ring; didn't know you had any."

"I mean yours, Jennie Vance; or it was yours; the one on your forefinger, with a red stone in it, that you said you'd give to me if I'd put my foot in it."

"Put your foot in what?"

"Why, you know, Jennie Vance; in the mud."

"Well, there wasn't any mud; 'twas as hard as a nut."

"You know what I mean, Jennie," exclaimed Dotty, growing excited. "So you needn't pretend!"

"I'm not pretending, nor any such a thing," replied Jennie, with a great show of candor; "it's you that are making up a story, Dotty Dimple. I didn't say I'd give you my ring. No, ma'am; if 'twas the last words I was to speak, I never!"

"O, Jennie Vance! Jane Sidney Vance! I should think the thunder and lightning would conduct you to pieces this minute; and a bear out of the woods, and every thing else in this world. I never saw a little girl, that had a father named Judge, that would lie so one to another in all the days of my life."

"Well," said Jennie, coolly, "if you've got done your preaching, I'll tell you what I said. I said, 'What if I should;' so there! I didn't say I would, and I never meant to; and you may ask my father if I can get it off my finger without sawing the bone in two."

"Indeed!" replied Dotty, poising her head backward with queenly dignity; "indeed!"

"I didn't tell a story," said Jennie, uneasily. "I should think any goosie might know people wouldn't give away jewels just for putting your foot out."

"It's just as well," said Dotty, with extreme dignity; "just precisely as well! I have one grandmamma who is a Quakeress, and she don't think much of little girls that wear rings. Ahem!"

Jennie felt rather uncomfortable. She did not mind Dotty's anger, but her quiet contempt was another thing.

"I think likely I may go to Boston next week," said she; "and if I do, this is the last time we shall go strawberrying together this summer."

"O, is it?" said Dotty.

After this the two little creatures trudged on in silence till they reached Mr. Parlin's gate. Jennie ran home in great haste as soon as she was free from her limping companion; and Dotty entered the side-door dripping like a naiad.

"Why, Alice Parlin!" said grandmamma, in dismay; "how came you in such a plight? We never thought of you being out in this shower. We supposed, of course, you would go to Mrs. Gray's, and wait till it was over."

"We were nowhere near Mr. Gray's," faltered Dotty, "nor anywhere else, either."

"I should think you had been standing under a water-spout," said Aunt Louise.

"Grandma, can't you put her through the wringer?" asked Prudy, laughing.

Dotty sank in a wet heap on the floor, and held up her ailing foot with a groan.

"Why, child, barefoot?" cried Aunt Louise. Dotty said nothing, but frowned with pain.

"It is a cruel thorn," said her good grandmother, putting on her spectacles and surveying the wound.

"Yes, 'm," said Dotty, finding her tongue. "I almost thought 'twould go clear through, and come out at the top of my foot."

Katie took a peep. "No, it didn't," said she; "it hided."

"There, there, poor little dear," said grandmother; "we'll put her right to bed. Ruthie, don't you suppose you and I can carry her up stairs?"

Not a word yet about the naughtiness; but plenty of pity and soft poultices for the wounded foot.

"She's a very queer child," thought Ruth, coming down stairs afterwards to steep hops for some beer; "a very odd child. She has something on her mind; but we shan't be any the wiser till she gets ready to tell it."