"How d'ye do?" said she, carelessly, to Dotty, and swept by her like a little ship under full sail.
"Jennie Vance needn't talk so about her new mother," whispered Prudy, "for she gives her fifty-two new dresses, one for every Sunday."
Dotty's brow darkened. Just now it seemed to her one of the greatest trials in the whole world that the dress she wore had been made over from one of Prudy's. It was a fine white organdie with a little pink sprig, but there was a darn in the skirt. Then there was no feather in her hat, and no breastpin at her throat.
Poor Dotty! She did not hear much of the sermon, but sat very quiet, counting the nails in the pews and the pipes in the organ, and watching old Mr. Gordon, who had a red silk kerchief spread over his head to guard it against the draught from the window. She listened a little to the prayers, it is true, because she knew it was wrong to let her thoughts wander when Mr. Preston was speaking to God.
When the services were over, and she was going to her Sabbath school class, she passed Jennie Vance in the aisle.
"Where are you going, Jennie?" said she.
"Going home. My mamma says I needn't stay to say my lessons and miss a warm dinner."
Jennie said this with such a toss of the head that Dotty longed to reply in a cutting manner.
"It isn't polite to have warm dinners on Sunday, Jennie Vance! But you said your father had a step-wife, and perhaps she doesn't know!"
"I didn't say my papa had a step-wife, Dotty Dimple."