"See," she cried, "see the trees a-yidin' on that bubbil!"
Dotty dropped the pipe and kissed her.
"Dear me," said she, the next minute, "there's Miss Polly coming!"
Katie looked along the path, and saw a forlorn woman tightly wrapped in a brown shawl, carrying a basket on her arm, and looking sadly down at her own calf-skin shoes, which squeaked dismally as she walked.
"Is um the Polly?" whispered Katie; "is um so tired?"
"No, she isn't tired," said Dotty; "but she feels dreadfully all the whole time; I don't know what it's about, though."
By this time the new-comer stood on the threshold, sighing.
"How do you do, you pretty creeturs?" said she, with a dreary smile.
"Yes, 'um," replied Katie; "is you the Polly, and does you feel drefful?"
The sad woman kissed the little girls,—for she was fond of children,—sighed more heavily than ever, asked if their grandmother was at home, and passed through the kitchen on her way to the parlor.