"Were I a dood lickle girl, Pattie?"
"Very good, Dot."
"Nor I didn't fidget, nor make no noise, Pattie?"
"No, darling. Dot was the best little girl that ever was. I'll take Dot again to church another Sunday."
The bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Cragg stood up, crimson and defiant. Since she could no longer hope to escape detection, she resolved to take refuge in bluster.
"Well," she said, with a harsh laugh; "so you thought you'd cheat me out of it, did you? You thought you'd keep me from finding out anything, eh? But you haven't. I've been one too many for you this time. I've found out what I wanted to know—just that, exactly —and you'd better have told me at once, and made no fuss. Pretending that you didn't mean to read the letters, and then doing it on the sly, as soon as ever my back was turned! I understand what it all means. But you're too late, with all your cunning."
Pattie grew as pale as if she, and not Mrs. Cragg, had been the guilty person. Her lips parted, and a grieved tremor passed over them. She turned, without a word, and went to the door.
"Dot, dear, run away. Run to the nursery. I'll come there presently."
"I wants to tome into Pattie's loom."
"No, not now. I am busy, Dot."