Dotty's tones were low and earnest.
"Who told you so?" said Jennie.
"My mamma; and she says we couldn't move nor breathe without Him not a minute."
"There, I did then!" cried Jennie, taking a long breath; "I breathed way down ever so far, and I did it myself."
"O, but God let you."
Dotty felt very good and wise, and as she had finished giving her benighted friend a lesson, she thought she would speak now of every day matters.
"Look at those little puddles in the road," said she; "don't they make you think of pudding-sauce—molasses and cream, I mean—for hasty-pudding?"
"No," said Jennie, tossing her head, "I never saw any pudding-sauce that looked a speck like that dirty stuff! Besides, we don't use molasses at our house; rich folks never do; nobody but poor folks."
"O, what a story!" said Dotty, coloring. "I guess you have molasses gingerbread, if your father is the judge!"
Dotty was very much wounded. This was not the first time her little friend had referred to her own superior wealth. "Dear, dear! Wasn't it bad enough to have to wear Prudy's old clothes, when Jennie had new ones and no big sister? She's always telling hints about people's being poor! Why, my papa isn't much poor, only he don't buy me gold rings and silk dresses, and my mamma wouldn't let me wear 'em if he did; so there!"