"Perhaps I may be sick," sighed Mildred, half hoping in her secret heart that so it might fall out.
"Oh, then of course I couldn't be mad; but I'll try to fix it when you're well."
"When is it to be? and what is it like?"
"Soon's mother and me gits the rags all cut; 'bout a week from now, I reckon. Why a passel o' girls gits together and sews the rags and winds 'em up into balls, and after awhile the boys come in and then we have lots o' fun and good things to eat. Now I must run home. Good-bye, mind you're to be sure to come."
This was Friday. On the ensuing Monday morning little Ada set out sorrowfully for Miss Drybread's school, in company with Emmaretta and Minerva Lightcap.
Mildred was alone in the parlor when the child came back at noon.
"Well, pussy, how did you like it?" she asked with a sympathetic smile.
"Not at all. O Mildred, she isn't a lady or a Christian; for she deceives; she acts lies; she made a naughty girl believe she was going to roast her to death. There's a stove and a big oven in it; and she said she was going to put her in there and build up a hot fire and cook her."