After her grandmother had left the room, Miss Dotty lay on the sofa for five minutes, thinking.

"Then it doesn't make any difference how much anybody cries, or how much they don't cry. If they are truly sorry, then they won't do it again; that's all."

Then she wondered if Jennie Vance had asked her step-mother's pardon. She thought she ought to talk to Jennie, and tell her how much happier she would feel if she would only try to be a good little girl.

"That child is growing naughty every day of her life," mused Miss Dimple, with a feeling of pity.

There was plenty of time to learn the morning's lesson by heart, for Dotty was obliged to keep very quiet all day. The thorn had been removed from her foot, but the healing must be a work of time; and more than that, her throat was quite sore.

It seemed as if Susy and Prudy would never come; and when at last their cheerful voices were heard ringing through the house, it was a welcome sound indeed. They had brought some oranges for Katie and Dotty, with sundry other niceties, from Aunt Martha's.

"Did you know," said Dotty, "I haven't had any breakfast to-day? I've lost one meal, and I never shall make it up as long as I live; for I couldn't eat two breakfasts, you know."

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Aunt Louise, laughing; "if you'll wake me up at twelve o'clock some night, I'll rise and prepare a breakfast for you, and that will make it all right."

Dotty looked at her auntie as if she did not know whether to take her in earnest or not.

"I've been sick at home all day, Prudy," said she; "and I s'pose you've been having a good time."

"Splendid! And Lightning Dodger brought us home."

"Who's Lightning Dodger?"

"Why, Aunt Martha's horse; don't you know? They call him that because they say he goes so fast the lightning don't have time to hit him."

"O, you don't believe it—do you?" cried Dotty; "I guess that's poetry."

"Little sister," replied Prudy, speaking in a low voice, "don't say 'poetry' ever again. There's something about it that's very queer. I thought I knew how to make poetry, but they all laugh at me, even grandma."

Dotty looked greatly surprised.

"Yes," continued Prudy, with a trembling voice; "I can rhyme verses and jingle them; but there's something else I don't put in, I s'pose, that belongs there. Some time I'll look in the big dictionary and see what it is."

"Is Prudy telling about the party?" asked Susy, from the corner.

"What party?" cried Dotty, dancing on her well foot.

"There, now, don't feel so happy, darling, for you can't go; its a family party, and Cousin Lydia wrote she hadn't room for the two youngest; that's you and Flyaway."

Dotty looked as if she had received a blow. True, she knew nothing about Cousin Lydia, who lived twenty miles away; but if that individual was going to have a party, of course Dotty wished to go to it.

"Uncle John is going, all his wife and children," said Prudy; "and I don't see why Dotty can't."

Uncle John was Aunt Martha's husband, and "all his wife and children" meant only Aunt Martha and Lonnie.

"Cousin Lydia wanted to make me cry," exclaimed Dotty, her eyes shooting out sparks of displeasure; "she 'spected I'd cry, and that's why—Katie," added she, drawing the little one up to her, "Cousin Lydia won't let you come to her house."

"What for she won't?" cried Katie, looking defiant. "If I good would her put me in the closet? I don't like her tall, tenny rate."

This was the strongest expression of wrath Katie dared use; and when she said she did not like a person "tall tenny rate," it meant that she was very, very angry.

"Has Cousin Yiddy got some heart?" asked she indignantly.

"Not a bit," replied Dotty, fiercely.

Mrs. Parlin now tried to explain. She said Mrs. Tenny did not intend any disrespect to the two youngest ones; but she really had no room for them, as her guests were to spend the night.

"The mistake she made was in asking Susy and Prudy," said Aunt Louise; "but I suppose she was curious to see our little poetess."

Prudy blushed, and hid her face behind the curtain.

"Poor little sister," thought she, "how she feels!" For Dotty sat in the rocking-chair, as stiff as a jointed doll, looking as if she loved nobody and nobody loved her. Her beautiful eyes had ceased to shoot sparks of fire, and now appeared hard and frozen, like thick blue ice. In fact, a fit of the pouts was coming on very fast, and gentle Prudy dreaded it. She had been so happy in the thought of riding to Bloomingdale; could she give up that pleasure, and stay at home with Dotty? Nothing less, she knew, would satisfy the child. All her life Prudy had been learning to think of the happiness of others before her own. She cast another glance at the still face.

"I'm not going to Bloomingdale," sighed she, behind the curtain.

But when she told Mrs. Parlin so, that night, her voice was very tremulous.

"You dear little girl," said grandma, giving her a hearty kiss; "you need not make any such resolve. Your sister Alice must learn to bear disappointments as well as you. You are going to Bloomingdale with us, my child; so bring your blue dress to me, and let me see if it is in order."

Though Prudy's offer to remain at home had been made in all good faith, and though she was really sorry to think of leaving Dotty alone, still I cannot say her heart did not bound with delight on being told she must go.

Thursday morning came clear and bright, and with it Miss Polly, downcast and sad, in a mournful brown bonnet, the front of which, as Prudy said, was "making a courtesy." Miss Polly was, however, in as good spirits as usual, and had come to keep house with Ruth, and help take care of the children for this day and the next.

Till the last minute Prudy and Dotty walked the piazza, their arms about each other's waist.

"I s'pose," said Dotty, sullenly, "when you are at that old Cousin Lydia's, having good times, you won't think anything about me and Katie, left here all alone."

"Why, little sister!"

"Maybe," continued Dotty, "the ducks will hatch while you're gone. I saw the white hen flying over the fence with one of those eggs in her mouth."

"A piece of the shell?"

"O, no, a whole egg, right in her bill," replied Dotty, who supposed she was telling the truth. "And you know those big strawberries that cost a cent apiece, Prudy; you'll be sorry you couldn't be here to help eat 'em in cream."

Perhaps Dotty hoped, even at this last moment, that Prudy would be induced to stay at home. If so, she was doomed to be disappointed.

"Well," said Prudy, "I'm glad you'll have such nice times, Dotty."

"O, it won't be nice at all. Something will happen; now you see if it don't," said Dotty, determined to be miserable.

After the two carriages, with the horses "Deacon" and "Judge," had driven off, and grandpa had given his last warning about fire, and Horace and the girls had waved their handkerchiefs for the last time, Dotty proceeded to the kitchen to see if she could find anything wherewith to make herself unhappy. Ruth stood by the flour-board kneading bread, and cutting it with a chopping-knife in a brisk, lively way. Polly sat by the stove sighing and rubbing silver.

"Dear me, child, what are you doing with my starch?" said Ruth as she saw Dotty with the bowl at her lips, and a sticky stream tickling down her apron.

"Starch?" cried Dotty, in disgust; "and you never told me, Ruthie! How did I know it wasn't arrow-root?"

"You see, Polly," said Ruth in a discouraged tone, "just what we are to expect from these children to-day. Next thing we know, that morsel of a Katie will be running away. They are enough to try the patience of Job when they both of them set out to see what they can do. And if Jennie Vance comes, the house will be turned upside down in five minutes."

Ruth might have known better than to complain to Polly, who always had something in her own experience which was worse than anybody else had known.

"We all have our trials," sighed that sorrowful woman; "if it isn't children, it's aches and pains. Now, for my part, I've been troubled for ten years with—"

Here followed a list of diseases. Ruth shut her lips together, resolved to say nothing more about her own trials.

"They don't either of them like me," thought Dotty. "I'm going off in the barn, and perhaps they'll think I'm dead. Katie," said she, sternly, "I'm going off somewhere, and you mustn't try to find me."

Then there was some one else who felt quite alone in the world, and that was little Katie. Her cousin had pushed her one side as if she was of no value. Katie was a very little child, but she was old enough to feel aggrieved. She went into the parlor, and threw herself face downwards on the sofa, thinking.

"Somebody leave me alone. O, dear! Some naughty folks don't think I'm any gooder than a baby."

Then the poor little thing ran out to "breve the fleshy air." No, she wasn't quite alone in the world after all, for there was Charlie Gray at the gate.

"Is um you?" she cried gleefully.

Charlie said it was.

"You didn't came to see big folks—did you? You camed to see Katie. I love you deely."

Then she tried to kiss him; but Charlie drew away.

"O, is your face sore?" asked the little girl.

By this time they had got as far as the seat in the trees, and Charlie had found his tongue.

"I didn't come thee you," said he. "I came thee your grandpa'th pig."

"O," said Katie, perfectly satisfied.

Off they started for the pig-pen.

"I'm glad Dotty Dimble goed away," said Katie, swinging Charlie's hand; "her's stinchy and foolidge."

"Good girlth don't thay tho," said sweet little Charlie rather shocked.

"Well, I do; stinchy and foolidge!" repeated Katie, as severely as if she had known what the words meant.

The pig was not expecting any visitors, and when he found that Charlie and Katie had brought him nothing to eat, he did not seem very glad to see them.

"How you do, piggy?" said Katie, swinging a stick through the opening by the trough.

Piggy ran away, looking very unamiable; and then he came back again, rolling his little eyes, and grunting sulkily.

"He don't look pleathant," said Charlie.

"No," replied Katie, archly; "I guess um don't want to be kissed."

Piggy winked his pink eyes, as if to say, "Ah, but I do."

"Does you?" said Katie, kindly, "then I'll frow you one;" and she did it from the tips of her clean fingers.

"But piggy's velly dirty," said she, wiping her lips on her apron.

"Don't they wath him?" said Charlie; "they wath theep."

"Um isn't a sheep," returned Katie; "um's a pig."

"But your gwampa could wath him."

"No, gampa couldn't; gampa's deaf. I'll tell Ruthie, and Ruthie'll wash him with the toof brush."

"I with thee would," sighed Charlie; "thee ought to. O ho!" he added, a bright thought striking him; "you got a mop?"

"A mop?"

"Yes; a bwoom 'thout any bwoom on it; only wags."

Katie knew what he meant in a minute; and soon her hair was flying in the wind, as she ran into the house for her handled mop. She looked first in the parlor, and then in the front hall; but at last she found it in the wash-room. She was very sly about it, for she was not sure Ruthie would approve of this kind of housework. Then Charlie tugged out a pail of water, and dipped in the mop; and between them both they thrust it through the opening of the pen, upon piggy's back. But the dirty creature did not love clean water. When he felt the mop coming down, he thought the sky was falling, and ran as fast as Chicken Little frightened by the rose-leaf.

It was of no use. The mop was wilful, and fell into the trough; and there it staid, though the children spent the rest of the forenoon in vain attempts to hook it out. When Ruthie went that noon to feed the pig, she found the trough choked with a mop, a hoe, a shovel, and several clothes-pins. She did not stop to inquire into the matter, but took the articles out, one by one, saying to herself, with a smile,—

"Some of that baby's work. I couldn't think what had become of my mop; she's enough to try the patience of Job. And now," added Ruth, throwing her apron over her head, "I may as well look up Miss Dimple. There's not a better child in the world than she is when she pleases; but deary me, when things do go wrong!"

Just then a wagon drove up to the gate, and Ruth said, as she saw a burly figure alight from it,—

"Why, that can't be Uncle Seth? I'm afraid something has happened at our house!"