She and Mandoline went out again to "breathe," Mrs. Rosenberg giving her daughter a warning glance from the doorway, which meant, "Be watchful, Mandy!" for the look of fixed despair on the little prisoner's face gave the woman some anxiety lest she should try to escape.
The unhappy child walked on in silence, twisting a lock of her front hair, and looking up at the sky. A few soft snow-flakes were dropping out of the clouds. Every flake seemed to fall on her heart. Winter was coming. It was a gray, miserable world, and she was left out in the cold. She remembered she had been happy once, but that was ages ago. It wasn't likely she should ever smile again; and as for laughter, she knew that was over with her forever. Susy and Prudy were at home, making book-marks and cologne mats; they could smile, for they hadn't run away.
"I shouldn't think my mamma'd care if I went in at the back door," thought Dotty, meekly. "If she locks me out, I can lie down on the steps and freeze."
But the question was, how to get away from Mandoline, who had her in charge like a sharp-eyed sheriff.
"That's the street I turn to go to my house—isn't it, Lina?" asked she, quickly.
"I shan't tell you, Dotty Dimple. Why do you ask?"
"'Cause I'm going home. I'm sick. Good by."
"But you musn't go a step, Dotty Dimple."
"Yes, I shall; you're not my mamma, Lina Rosenberg; you mustn't tell me what to do."
"Well, I'm going everywhere you go, Dotty, but I shan't say whether it's the way to your house, or the way to Boston; and you don't know."