"No 'm."
"Well, just go peep in and tell me what it looks like. From the looks of the outside, I should say that it is nearly done. You peep in at the window."
Bubbles obeyed, and came back with the information. "Hit's got a flo' an' a stove."
"Ah!" Dimple pondered. "Oh yes, that's to keep the baby chicks warm, I suppose. I wish I could see for myself. Is that all, Bubbles?"
"Yass 'm."
"I wish I hadn't told you to peep in," Dimple remarked, after a pause. "I don't believe it was quite honest for me to do it, and I'll have to be uncomfortable till I tell mamma or papa. You oughtn't to have peeped, Bubbles."
"Yuh tole me to."
"So I did, but—well, you shouldn't have done it, just the same."
Bubbles rolled her eyes reproachfully, and began to mutter.
"There, never mind. It wasn't your fault," Dimple confessed, hastily. But although Bubbles' countenance cleared, Dimple herself did not feel at ease till she had told her mother, which she did that night at bedtime.