"But I wasn't scupid, not one bit," declared Dot in an injured tone. "It was a dreat scupid dog what runned against me, and clumbled me down."
Pattie devoted herself to displaying and doctoring the grazed little leg. Dot talked vigorously all the while, with a goodly amount of self-praise on the score of her own courage. She was very proud of not having been betrayed into tears; and presently she stumped off, anxious to display her lameness to others. Pattie stood looking at the two boxes.
"That one's locked," remarked Mrs. Cragg, unable to let the matter alone.
"Yes."
"What's in it?"
"I don't know. It was my father's. He always had it locked. He kept his papers there."
"You'll have to read them now, of course."
Pattie was silent.
"You'll have to read them all now," repeated the other.
"I don't—know."