Dotty saw her father through the window. She had not supposed it was dinner-time. Her head, which she had just been tossing so proudly, was suddenly lowered, and she entered the house with "faint-footed fear," and stole noiselessly up stairs, leaving wet tracks on the elegant carpet. She did not wish to meet her father while she was in such a plight.

"O, Prudy!" she called out, "something has happened!"

But Prudy was not within hearing. Angeline had given her permission to peel the potatoes for dinner, and she was now in the kitchen, quite unconscious of her little sister's forlorn situation. Hatless Johnny had crept around by the back door, and put himself under the care of Jane, the chambermaid. Janey was very kind-hearted, and withal a little weak-minded. She had often helped Johnny out of his predicaments, receiving in return plenty of kisses and sugar-plums.

But who was going to help Dotty? She did not know where to look for dry garments; for, since her mother went away, her own clothes, and those of her two sisters, had been tossed together in sad confusion. She did not like to go to Susy, for Susy would probably scold; and Dotty, just now, was so uncomfortable, and her nerves had been so terribly racked, that she thought she could bear anything better than to be blamed.

"O, dear! where in this world was Prudy?"

She fidgeted about, trying to find she knew not what. Then she remembered she had herself locked the trunk, to hide away some almond candy from the other girls. Where she had put the key she did not know.

The dinner-bell rang, and still Prudy did not appear.

"I believe she does it to purpose," thought Miss Dimple, pulling out the bureau drawers in great haste, and scattering their contents right and left.

"Seem's if I should freeze, but I don't s'pose she cares. I don't want any dinner. If Prudy'd bring me up a piece of pudding, I'd eat it; but she won't, nor pie either."

By this time Dotty had nearly forgotten that all her misery was the result of her own misconduct. She would remember it by and by with renewed shame; but, just now, she had somehow shifted the blame upon innocent Prudy, forgetting that that dear little sister did not even know she was in the house.

"And I sha'n't eat any supper," continued the shivering Dotty. "I wonder how many dinners and suppers 'twould take to starve folks to death? Prudy said she loved me; but if she does, why don't she come up here, and get me some clean clothes?"

Meanwhile, at the dinner-table down stairs, there were three places empty. Mrs. Eastman had gone to Cumberland, and Susy told her father that Johnny and Dotty were away somewhere at play. It was such a careless household, and the meals were so irregular, that Mr. Parlin had several times missed Dotty at table. He did not pay any more attention than usual to her absence to-day, but thought, with a feeling of relief,—

"Her mother will soon be at home, and then I shall feel very much easier about Alice and the other children."

If Mr. Parlin had only known that Dotty was shivering up stairs in wet clothes, he might not have lingered so long over his ice-cream. As it was, he chatted leisurely with Mr. Eastman, put on his hat, and walked away, saying to Susy, in a low voice, as he passed her in the hall,—

"My daughter, while I am so busy, and your mother is gone, I wish you would pay more attention to your little sister Alice. I am really afraid she is running wild."

"Yes, sir," replied Susy, with a swift pang of conscience; for she now recollected that it was seldom she even knew where Dotty was, her mind being wholly absorbed by play and fancy-work.

At this moment Johnny appeared, fresh from a bath, and dressed in a clean suit.

"Where is Dotty?" asked Susy, rather surprised by Johnny's tidy array.

"Dot? O, she's in the house somewhere. She came home when I did."

Johnny spoke very carelessly. He was anxious that no one should suppose anything unusual had occurred.

Susy and Prudy went up stairs in search of their missing sister. They found her in her own room, sitting down disconsolately in the middle of the floor.

"Why, Dotty Dimple, where have you been? How did you get so wet?"

No answer.

"Have you been trying to swim?" laughed Prudy, going up and stroking her forehead.

"Prudy Parlin, why didn't you come up here before?" was the sudden response. "I called you and called you.—Where'd you put my clo'es?"

"Why, Dotty, dear, I didn't know you were in the house; and I never touched your clothes."

"Yes, you did. I can't find the key. I'm going to freeze. You don't care. You never brought me a speck of pudding. I'm sick, and going to have the sore throat. I wouldn't eat it now if the mayor was right in this room—so there!"

Nothing could exceed the dreariness of Dotty's tone. Susy, though by no means unfeeling, could scarcely refrain from laughing at the child's unreasonableness; but Prudy, who "was exceeding wise" in reading the heart, knew that Dotty's anger was not very real; that it was partly assumed to hide her wretchedness. Therefore patient Prudy resolved to bear with the sharp words, believing Dotty would be pleasant by and by, when she felt comfortable.

After some delay in hunting, she and Susy dressed the child in fresh clothes. Then Dotty consented to eat a little dinner, and go into her grandma Read's room, to sit on the lounge.

"This little girl doesn't look well," said grandma Read, the first moment; "her cheeks are altogether too red. Where has thee been to-day, Alice?"

"Been down to the beach, picking shells, grandma," replied Dotty, looking hard at the carpet.

"O, where are the shells?" said Prudy.

"I'm sure I don't know; I didn't find any. I didn't come back the same way I went," replied Dotty, twirling her favorite lock of hair over her finger.

"Didn't come back the same way?"

"No, I went wherrying."

"Wherrying?" repeated Prudy.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"Prudence, what does thee suppose the child means?" said grandma Read, taking off her spectacles, and fixing her kind eyes steadily upon Dotty Dimple.

"Wherrying in a wherry," answered Dotty, dryly.

"Does thee mean in a boat?"

"Why no, grandma. It looks like a boat, but it isn't; it's a wherry."

"Who allowed thee to go on the water?"

"Nobody."

"Did thee think thee was doing right?"

"No'm."

"Who rowed the boat?"

"Some boys—two—and Johnny, grandma."

"Hasn't thy mother told thee not to go on the water?"

"She said I mus'n't sail, and I never. I wherried."

"Why, Dotty Parlin," said Prudy, "you'll scare me so I'll never get my breath again! You didn't go off on that bay with some boys?"

"Yes, I did," replied Dotty, trying to look defiant. "You wouldn't have dared to, Prudy."

"Thee may get in my lap, Alice, and tell me all about it," said grandma Read, laying down her knitting-work.

Dotty curled herself into a little heap in her grandmother's arms.

"My head aches," said she, "and I love to lay it against your soft kerjif."

"Well, dear, so thee may. Now, tell me what made thee go on the water?"

"'Cause, 'cause, grandma, Solly Rosenbug asked me to go, and Johnny tried to make me not go. I asked Solly was he old enough, and knew enough, and he said he did; but he didn't any such thing. And grandma, there it was, right in the middle of the solid water! And began to spin and dance round. We couldn't stop it from dancing; the more we held on, the quicker it went. Way up and down, grandma, and the rain raining, and our feet all sopping, and pouring right into that wherry like a—a catara-duct. They were all afraid but me, and I was awful afraid too. You see I thought we should tip right over, and I didn't want to be drowned, and couldn't swim."

"Why, Dotty, how you make me tremble!" cried Prudy.

"The way Johnny paddled!" continued Dotty, triumphantly. "Solly said he couldn't. I could have paddled better, only I didn't dare to."

"You paddle!"

"No, I didn't. The wind blew me so I couldn't; 'twas much's ever I kept in the wherry. I had to hold on to Lina, too; she was just as 'fraid!"

Here grandma Read pressed Dotty close to her heart, as if she wished to make sure the child was really alive.

"'He gave his angels charge concerning thee,'" murmured she. "Tell me, child, how thee ever got to the shore."

"O, the captain took us in a sail-boat! He called us crazy chickens, but said he didn't scold. I was the first one that saw the sail; and then Solly rowed us to it, and it took us in, just as wet as ever was. Johnny lost that paddle. So we got home; and, O, how my head aches!"

"What a strange, strange child to tell a story!" said grandma Read, shaking her head. "But I've seen thee before. I understand thy odd ways. Thee is deeply ashamed of such wicked conduct—that I am very sure. Thee must be aware, Alice, that it is only by the Lord's mercy thee is safe on dry land, instead of being drowned in the depths of the sea."

Dotty shuddered, and curled her crimson face more closely against the white kerchief.

"But I will not chide thee now. Thy mother will do what is right and proper when she comes home. But now thee must have a bowl of ginger tea, and go straight to bed."

Dotty made no objection. Indeed she was glad to find herself tucked warmly under blankets and coverlets, for she was still chilly, and her head grew worse continually. It was also a great relief to her that she had told the whole story. She knew her father would be sorely displeased; but he had never punished her in his life, and it was not likely he would do it now, while her head ached so dreadfully.

She wasn't going to tell anybody how sorry she was; but she had made up her mind to this—that she would never look at salt water again as long as she lived.