"Well, she did it, I just know she did it!" exclaimed Dotty, greatly excited. "That little tinty boy!"
"The judge pitied her for her youth and ignorance; so did the twelve men called the 'jury;' and she was allowed to go free."
"Then did she 'buse somebody's else's baby, mamma?"
"I hope not. The last I heard of her she was married to a negro fiddler."
"O!"
"Do you know why I have told you this sad story, my little daughter?"
"'Cause, 'cause—Harriet beat her head against the door, and hurt a baby, and—and—married black folks!"
Dotty was very pale, and there was a tear in her voice; still her mother could not be sure that her words had made much impression. She was afraid her long story had been "love's labor lost."
But I believe it had not been. Not entirely, at least. Dotty thought of Harriet all the afternoon, and walked about the house with a demureness quite unusual.
"O, Prudy!" said she, when they two were alone in the parlor, looking over a book of engravings, "I'm going to tell you something; 'twill make you scream right out loud, and your hair stick up!"