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 the typo. Any way, my head aches. Besides, my papa didn't say I mustn't go home. He said I must finish my visit, and I have. O, I've finished that all 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; they could 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; and you don'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 that will tell—don't you see?"

This was a difficulty which Lina had not provided for. She was very sorry
Dotty had come out "to breathe."

Very soon they overtook a lady, who pointed out the right street to
Dotty; 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 away again"

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, Miss
Rosenberg."

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? It looks like 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 I am bad, 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 a buggler"

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 a sip," 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; 'it looks like—'"

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 what should she 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 glasses are gone 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, under the 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'll let me stay at home, I'll live in the kitchen, and won't go near the table."

"Where did you come from?" said Mr. Parlin, kissing a clean place on
Dotty'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 never could have come up."

"Excuse me for smiling," said Prudy; "but you look as if you had fallen into the inkstand. It is so funny!"

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 I felt it,—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.

* * * * *

PRUDY'S LECTURE.

"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."