Meanwhile Dotty was lying on the hay in the barn scaffold. It is very easy to be unhappy when we particularly try to be so; and Dotty had arrived at the point of almost believing that she almost wished she was actually dead.
And, to add to her gloom, a fierce-looking man, with a long horse-whip in his hand, came and peeped in at the barn door, and screamed to Dotty in a hoarse voice that "Ruth Dillon wanted her right off, and none of her dilly-dallying."
And then, on going into the house, what should she learn but that this man had come to take Ruth home, because her mother was sick. The children—so Ruth said—must stay with Polly and be little ladies.
O, dear, it was as lonesome as a line-storm, after lively Ruth had gone away. Dotty began to think she liked her brisk little scoldings, after all.
"Does you feel so bad?" said little Flyaway, gazing on her sober cousin with pity; "your mouth looks just this way;" and, putting up both hands, she drew down her own little lips at the corners.
"Yes, I feel bad," said Dotty. "You needn't talk to me; where's your orange?"
"I squoze it," replied Flyaway; "and falled it down my froat. But I didn't had enough. If you pees, um, give me some more."
"Why, what an idea!" said Dotty, laughing.
But when she began to divide her own orange into sections, Katie looked on expectantly, knowing she should have a share. Dotty ate two quarters, gave one to Katie, and reserved the fourth for Polly. She longed to eat this last morsel herself, but Polly had praised her once for giving away some toys, and she wished to hear her say again, "Why, what a generous little girl!"
But when she smilingly offered the bite, what was her surprise to hear Polly say in an indifferent tone,—