"I was defful sick," said she; "and did I ask the Polly woman for the stawbollies? No, she was naughty; I didn't want 'em. She gived me stawbollies and stawbollies."
Prudy had to hear over and over again the trials which both the children had suffered. She had had a delightful time herself, as she always did have, wherever she was. She told Dotty and Flyaway of several interesting events which had happened; but, best of all, she had brought them a quantity of beautiful shells, which they were to divide with Ruthie. The brisk Ruth had come back again as energetic as ever. It proved that her mother had not been so very ill, after all.
"Bless that Prudy's little white heart," said she, kissing her on both cheeks; "she never forgets anybody but herself."
Ruthie did not praise children as a general thing; but she loved Prudy in spite of herself.
Aunt Maria had brought Dotty a beautiful doll. "Because," said she, "I knew you would try to take good care of my little Katie."
"O, thank you ever so much, Aunt 'Ria," cried Dotty, handing the dolly at once to Prudy to be admired. But next minute her conscience pricked her. She had no right to a present. True, Katie ought to have known better than to try to swim; still, as Dotty acknowledged,—
"I needn't have felt so sober, I s'pose, and then I should have taken care of her."
Dotty was learning to pay heed to these little pricks of conscience. Slowly and sadly she walked back to her Aunt Maria, who was standing on the piazza training the clematis.
"I s'pose, auntie, you thought I took care of the baby; but I didn't. I let her swim. Miss Polly said she had the 'blues,' and so did I."
Aunt Maria smiled. "Very well," said she; "then keep the doll as a recompense for the suffering you have endured. I hope you will not see two such gloomy days again during the summer."